| So in the end I was forced to wear the costume after all. I learned my valiant stand for the rights of the meagre worker had come to nothing when the following week I received my rota for the coming cruise with a "Derek the Dolphin" slot accompanied by the initials HG. I faced what felt like the biggest decision of my brief but dramatic photographic career. Do I bite my tongue until it bleeds and don the costume in an attempt at maturity and understanding or do I take the big stand and pack my bags?
The evening in question arrives and feeling like a caged dag I start the first of many bottles of wine. I have a constant awareness of that sicky feeling which betrays my giving in to an argument. I feel a complete failure. As the time approaches so does my tipsiness until eventually I am stumbing into the massive felt costume, applying the tons of padding and postioning the wieghty face over my own light headed one.
For some reason very few photos were taken involving Derek that evening. It may have had something to do with the faint odour of a potent mixture of red wine, rum and cigarettes emanating from the friendly fellow. It may have been influenced by derek's regular and lengthy disapppearance to his cabin. It may even be because Derek seemed to have a way of accidently slapping away hands that pulled at him. But it was probably because Derek was a hideous and dirty creature who no-one would have wanted a photo with anyway. Whatever the reason Derek the Dolphin never saw the light of day again. I may have lost the battle but I think I won the war. |
Login to Top Employers 