Film Loader

The Perfect Interaction

Recently, I accepted a job for “Film Loader (120) - must have Mamiya RZ and Pentax 67 experience”, knowing full well I’d never touched either of those cameras. After frantically texting every Portland film shooter I knew, I remembered I could just go to the local film lab/camera shop and have them show me how. The tutorial I received became my favorite interaction with a stranger I’ve had in recent memory.

“Now I notice you have some very nice, long, nails,” the employee observed. A statement of fact, without the slightest hint of either flirtation or condescension - which I can say confidently because I was on guard for both. In a tone so neutral it seemed to perch on the top of a pin - but easily, casually, unaware - he continued, “I would recommend bringing a small screwdriver to pop this piece out. On some cameras this element can be kind of sticky, and I’ve busted a nail or two trying to get it open before.”

disclaimer: *not* how I loaded rolls in a professional setting

Now, the spectrum of my genetic lottery winnings span from, on the unlucky side: my dad’s cavity-prone teeth, to the big ticket winner: my mom’s bulletproof fingernails. In addition to making my short sausage-fingers look borderline elegant, these things are so strong and useful that I actually feel more handicapped when they’re cut short.

So you see, I did not end up needing the screwdriver I brought. Yet I’ve thought about that advice every day since, because its intention and delivery was so refreshingly nonjudgemental.

In every workspace I occupy, I deal with men who underestimate my competence, intelligence, etc., and subsequently over-explain things, to my increasing annoyance as I get older. I’m a broken record at this point, but I’ve found the photo industry can be especially patronizing. On every new job I take, I have to spend the whole first half of the day proving to the Grip Guys around me that 1) I know what I’m doing and 2) I’m physically able to do it. Just four days ago a man impatiently barked at me, “lefty loosey righty tighty” as I was assembling a Magliner, apparently too slowly. Really. “Lefty loosey righty tighty.” As if that was the problem.

Coming to the film shop in need of some education, I fully expected to walk out feeling knowledgable, but belittled. Instead, this man took me seriously enough to pay attention and adapt his advice to my specific needs. I wish I could bottle up the whole interaction and wear it around my neck, ready to sprinkle like pixie dust on every well-intentioned but ill-conceived “teaching moment” I have to endure for the rest of my life. Alas, this written account by way of newsletter will have to do.

(I crushed the job by the way)

practice shot that I would love to redo in brighter conditions

Have a superrrrr Saturday,

Jordan