TATER

  My brother and I live ten miles apart from each other, but rarely manage to cross paths.  The few times we bump into one another usually occur on the train commute to work.  It is often a pleasant surprise for both of us, and we manage to fill each other in on all the pertinent events which define our busy lives.  Today happened to be one of those chance occurrences, and our conversation began in the train station and continued as we started our thirty minute commute.  As many of you know, the train ride provides rich people watching experiences, and have peppered some of my blog entries in the past.

My brother filled me in on his family life and our discussion had moved on to work.  As we were laughing about our various bad work experiences, the door to our train car slammed open, revealing a rather stout Italian woman making her entrance in dramatic fashion.  My brother and I were startled out of our commiserations at the slamming of the metal doors, and each stared slack jawed as she weeble wobbled towards us.  As luck would have it, my brother and I were straddling three little fold down seats on the lower level, and our portly newcomer decided that we were the two guys on the train she needed to be with.  Instead of asking, or waiting for us to extend our seat (there were plenty of empty, larger spaces available) she threw her golf bag/purse next to me on half a seat, and then reached down and pushed my leg, while jerking her head to the side in a pantomime of "move the fuck over".  I complied while trying to conclude a sentence I had been in the middle of with my brother.  Apparently I wasn't quick enough, because part of her girth landed on me as the rest of her squashed me into my brother's reluctant embrace.

"Excuse me."  She said brightly.

"All settled in?"  I asked.

She let out a breathy sigh, and I watched in horror as a nose rocket exploded from her left nostril, flew across the aisle, and landed on the polished wing tip of a banker type, buried in his Wall Street Journal.   I turned to my brother to register his reaction, to see if I had been hallucinating this utterly fantastic sight.  Nope.  We gave each other "the look".  The same one that has gotten us into ample trouble over the years in church settings, family dinners, and any other somber event.  We both started cough-chortling uncontrollably.  After a few minutes of struggling to reclaim our composure, he asked me who I was shooting for.

"Red Lobster, they are in for two days to do some table tent shots for their-"

"You're a food photographer?"  Came the booming voice on my right.  "What a neat job!  I'm Italian, *pregnant pause* I love to cook.  Is the food you shoot real, or is it like made of plastic or something?  I bet it's plastic.  Looks too perfect.  How do you get the food to look so perfect?"  Chuckle chuckle.  "Food today is all made of chemicals and shit, and I refuse to eat any of that prepackaged stuff, well, sometimes Lean Cuisine, but only when I have to work really late.  Do you, like, shoot the packaging for frozen food and stuff, too?

The prattle went on and on, and the strong odor of her last night's meal, was infusing my coffee with the heady taste of garlic.  She finally managed to wind herself down enough for me to politely answer one of her ten questions, and then she was off to the races again.  I think she even described to me a pre baked ham that her father had once tried to serve her family, which somehow ended up on their compost heap, uneaten.

"The bugs wouldn't even touch it!"  She shrieked.

I looked at my brother who gave me the look again, right before burying his head in his paper to leave me helpless and alone to her onslaught.  I heard him giggle a few times under his breath as I struggled to detach myself from this unwelcome familiarity, with my new. best.friend.   She talked until the train pulled into the station. 

"You are cheap therapy, bro!", was my brothers parting salvo.

I suppose sometimes I am.  But then again, if I am ever so alone, that I need to strike up a one sided conversation with a trainger, I hope that person will pay me the same polite, attention.

I worked on some product shots for a different company this afternoon, and thought you might like a sneak peek.  I don't usually do product, solely food.  I'm a bit rusty, so please be gentle with me...