November 5th to 27th, 2022
I sat on a couch that hugged the wall of the bar as my friends got drinks, staring vacantly at a row of fluorescent lights beneath the skirt of a bar table as it illuminated a maize of patron legs. There was a potential photo forming here that was too tempting to let drift into memory, and yet, I knew this was an obviously inappropriate setting to shoot in. I was overwhelmed-- the wall of white noise that penetrated my head was so washed and singular that it morphed into an indistinct drone, which lulled me to sleep. I sank into the couch's soft leather cushions, cradled in its bosom as my eyelids sagged. Someone approached me asking if I was okay. I must have looked very intoxicated. I sat up and gave them a white person's smile followed by a thumbs up or something stupid like that. I probably should've gotten up and joined my friends, even if it was just to stand around, not drink and pretend to comprehend people's conversations. My attention returned to the proto-image. I sat there in detached thought for a long time, assessing the risk of photographing in a bar, especially given that I appeared alone and indisposed. I made a quick decision free from further speculation and snapped the image. A momentary violating light washed over the walls of the bar and lapped the legs of strangers. I forgot to silence the flash.
I caught my breath at the unambiguous act, waiting for the inevitable consequence. Very shortly, a staff member approached me. It was an ill-lit place, but I could guess with a shameful amount of confidence what expression she was wearing. She greeted me in the way people do when they have more pressing things to say but still wish to maintain a modicum of professionalism. I returned her greeting, feigning ignorance to the direction of this conversation. She was a short woman, but I was sinking so low into the couch that she still had to stoop over to speak to me as if I was some child left unsupervised. She quickly accelerated the string of usual dialogue and interrogated me with a slew of questions: was that a camera? What was I photographing? Why was I photographing, etc. I did my best to explain myself honestly so as to lower her guard, even showing her what I had photographed. She weighed each of my answers, nodding silently, staring at me then my photos then back at me again, not in any way reassured by my explanations.
I was aware that nothing I could say would lower her suspicions of me. I was already sitting by myself. I was also a guy, not dressed in a particularly flattering or advantageous way given the circumstances. I had that sort of Unabomber fashion, which I mostly blame on my oversized jacket. Plus the beard and glasses combo. It gave me the aire of some antisocial private investigator. I knew that the photographs I showed would only raise more questions. I don't mean this to be an ulterior compliment on my photography being too esoteric for her, only that there was no amount of explanation at that moment that would do any good in such a truncated social situation. There was a degree of public decorum that I had violated by photographing people here, though others in the bar had likely done the same, stealthily or perhaps brazenly raising their smartphones to record as they leered and laughed at other patrons. That was besides the point though. I knew at the very least I should have been more discreet.
It would've been strange and long-winded of me to go off on some tangential explanation of my camera philosophy, attempting to yell over siren music that made it hard to hear myself speak as an exhausted worker fulfilled her obligation to investigate me as a problem. It was an unfortunate instance of compounding social barriers preventing us from speaking plainly with clarity, and I was frustrated and sharply aware of this invisible border dividing us. The woman was eventually at a loss for words. She had exhausted all questions and looked at me dumbfounded as I pretended like I wasn't aware of the issue. In resignation, she shrugged, deciding I was not worth the effort and went about her myriad of other tasks. I took one more half-hearted photo and shamefully stowed away my camera for the evening.
Second Draft
First Draft