| Having been on the ship for 6 days, got drunk 8 times, lost 13 times and told off at least 74, my inaugural restaurant shoot was fast approaching with all its thrills and numerous spills.
Restaurant shoots certainly make a valid claim at being the most detested shoots on board ship, closely contested by the early morning gangway. Both occur when our beloved passengers are at their most unappealing physically and mentally. On this occasion, they will be busy tucking into their fifth meal of the day. A fiery magenta will tinge their still white faces and some area or other will be burnt red raw. They will be attempting to make light or interesting conversation with those who share their table, maybe for the duration of the evening maybe for the entire cruise! Chances are a small amount of peppercorn cream will be dribbling its way delicately down a pink chin. And low and behold here comes a photographer!
So in we all run, under strict orders to be as fast as possible. No dawdling, no chatting, no eating, no drinking. In about an hour we should take about 150 photos, literally flash 'em a smile and snap away! But of course it is not so easy, as I am about to discover on this, the christening occasion. They don't want their photos taken looking sunburned and greedy. And they certainly don't want you to interrupt them with your bloody cheerfulness. These people seem to have a sixth sense for terror and they soon realise I'm an amateur. I am subjected to table after table of cutting remarks, some feel free to rip me into as many shreds as possible; face, outfit, body, voice, photographic talent, no stone is left unturned in this race to humiliate. The kinder sorts settle for a simple but sincere swearword, always a classic.
I leave the restaurant and step into the staff lifts. Steve, my supervisor, asks me how I think it went. I crumple into a mound of adrenaline fuelled sobs. I can't wait for next time to get the b*#?!ds back. |
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