I was sent to cover a beer festival a few months ago. Despite the “you have the best job in the world” vibe you’re feeling right now, it really was difficult. I mean, how do you make a different/interesting photograph of a large crowd standing around drinking?
Unfortunately, most of the festival was indoors in a giant space, with the beer venders lining the perimeter. It was a nice day, so a few people did venture outside to listen to live music and bask in the sun. I chose to do the same.
There she was; a slender girl with long, light-brown hair. Her skirt touched her ankles, billowing a bit as she twirled to the music. Beautiful and ready for a photo.
I shot a few frames and went to talk to her. She had just turned 21, I found out, and I scribbled in my notebook quotes that I might use in the cutline. I had what I needed, but I heard myself say, “It seems like I’m missing something…”
She smiled and asked if I wanted her number. That’s when my brain shut down and a long “uhhhhhhhhh” escaped my mouth. I don’t remember how I managed to get away, but it definitely happened quickly.
On the drive back to the paper, my mind was racing. Was she just being professional, in case I had questions later? Was it a funny joke? Or was she really offering her number as a gift, one that should ALWAYS be accepted?
I’m fearless with the public; that’s my job as a photojournalist. But I can’t talk to pretty girls.