I was working as a restaurant hostess in Boston, one September long ago, when I met my future boss. I was a senior in college, about to graduate—a semester early!!—with my hard-earned degree in photojournalism. The world was my oyster.
A perky cocktail waitress, Michelle, came careening over from the bar: “You’ve got to meet this guy! He’s a photographer and he’s even got a bunch of cameras with him!”
It was a busy Friday night and I was training a new hostess that night—I didn’t have time to flirt with guys at the bar. Michelle insisted. “No, c’mon, you gotta meet him.” I went reluctantly.
He was a photographer, all right. He had a huge bag of gear with him, and after quick introductions, he immediately launched into this huge spiel about why he was in Boston (on assignment for a travel guide), who he used to work for (National Geographic), and what he was looking for—a new assistant (me?!?). I gave him my sob story about how I was due to graduate in December and didn’t have a job, but that I was hoping to land something with The Globe (yeah, in my dreams).
“You should work for me for a little while, I could teach you a lot.” He told me that he was going to be in Boston for a few more weeks and if I were interested in helping him while he was in town, he’d be happy to pay me. Cool! I gave him my number and hurried back to my hostess station.
A few days later, the phone rang at 4:45 am. Holy crap, who the hell was calling?? I leaped from my futon (whoever invented those things should be shot) and picked up the phone. “Can you meet me in thirty minutes on the BU Bridge?” Huh? It took me a minute to figure out who it was, but then it registered—oh, it’s that photographer I met at work. Riiiiight. “Um, sure. I can meet you there. Should I bring my camera?” He said yes, and to hurry. I grabbed my camera and a couple of rolls of film, scribbled a note to my roommate apologizing for the early phone call and telling her where I was headed, and ran out the door—and practically the entire way to the BU Bridge, which at a leisurely pace was a forty-minute walk. I hustled, to say the least.
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