From Behind the Lens
By Colleen Swartz
Corporate Sucks
One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important. -Bertrand Russell
So here I sit in Denver Colorado in a hotel room wrapped in only a scratchy towel and I’m miserable. See, last week I flew off to Las Vegas for Vegas Bike week and the Artistry in Iron Show. It was much like many bike events, only more fun. Lots to do, many people there I knew, cool bikes, cool builders, fun crowds and the un-ending stream of fun, frivolity, sex and gambling that you can find only in Las Vegas. That is not the part that made me miserable.
After Bike Week I flew to Denver to shoot a corporate event that I have done for the same company for the past 3 years. It is a good money gig, but is about as far removed from my other photography work as it gets. I’m not telling you who I worked for, but even if I did, I am relatively certain that none of these people would ever see this column anyway. This is a completely foreign world to me and it is tearing me down.
In the bike world I routinely travel on 10, 12, even 14 day trips and although it is tiring, I never have the feeling of aloneness or loneliness that I have when I do these corporate things. I’m not quite sure how these people do it, but everything that makes traveling and meeting new people fun for me is strictly off limits in this world.
Let’s start from the beginning.
I was booked months in advance for this gig in Denver but a week before I left I got a call from my contact at the corporation to confirm and discuss the event. It was going to be the same-old, same-old of taking photos of people having breakfast, going to classes, eating lunch, going to seminars, eating dinner and going to speeches. Sounds fun, hey? At the end of our conversation I was warned that there are some new “big wigs” in the company and that “we” needed to be sure we were on our best behavior and that “we” didn’t have any “boobies”.
My response was that my boobies were a package deal with myself and I was unable to leave them at home. My contact, apparently missing the humor of my statement, dryly explained that “we” needed to dress conservatively. Now, you and I both know that she didn’t mean “we” that she meant “me”. This surprised me as the last time I worked for this corporation, a whole year ago in Florida, I had bought a new 5-day wardrobe just for the event and since I hadn’t had a single good reason to wear that boring shit in the past year, I had intended to pack the same outfits again. They were as conservative as I was willing to go and they would just have to deal with it.
My outfits are the least of my worries in this oppressive and uptight environment.
At a bike event when I walk in the door with my camera I am welcomed by both friends and strangers begging me to “take my picture”! and hamming it up. I love that about my job. People ride bikes differently when my camera is around, they drink differently, they dance differently and they show off more and have more fun.
Here I walk in the room and I can immediately see people turn away from me. They shield their faces when I raise my camera up and they beg me not to take their photos and then are horrified when I do. Do you have any idea what it does to me to have to coax people to abandon their scowls when I take a photo, much less try to get them to smile? It is a full-time job just to be around these sour-pusses and I am exhausted from it.
Then the people themselves are so uptight. I instinctively do to them what I do to a frigid model during a photo shoot. I put the camera down for awhile and I talk to them. I ask them about themselves, I compliment them on their assets, I become friends with them hoping against all odds that they will crack a smile for me the next time I see them. I can tell you that is strictly frowned upon in corporate America.
Monday night, after my first day of shooting, I was going out with a guy who works with a partner company to the company I am working for. I have seen him for 3 years now and we consider ourselves friends. We had made plans even before the conference to have dinner together and it wasn’t until late in the day that I was talking to a woman and a man who were attendees of this conference and they were both lamenting the fact that they knew no one at the conference and would have to eat dinner alone. I invited each of them to come with us.
Once at the restaurant, we needed to wait about 30 minutes to get a table so I went up to the bar with them and announced that I would be buying the first round. The woman ordered a glass of wine, I and my buddy ordered mixed drinks and the 4th guy in our group immediately ordered a blue label scotch that set me back $38.00 for one pour. I thought to myself, “who does that to a virtual stranger who you met in an elevator 2 hours ago and invited to you dinner?!” Strange bird, but I let it slide. It did piss me off that he never even thanked me for the drink, but I can even overlook that.
What horrified me was late in the next day when my contact for the company pulled me aside and told me that I shouldn’t fraternize with any of the attendees as that same guy that had soaked me for a $38.00 glass of booze was taking shit about me and it got to the wrong ears.
I was completely devastated. Now, you have to remember, I didn’t tell my dirtiest jokes, I didn’t flash my tits, I didn’t even talk about myself all that much, but for some reason this ass wipe decided to tell all of his boring friends what a wild night he had with me (if he only knew, hey?) and now I probably won’t be invited back next year because of it.
Now, you can mess with me and drink 1/3 of my total food budget in one drink, but you can’t mess with my business so I told the guy to shut his mouth the next morning when I saw him, but I have never had to do anything even remotely that uncomfortable in the bike world…. Ever.
So why am I telling you this? Because like everything else in life, it is a lesson that I am learning the hard way and I want to share it with you to remind you what it is like out here in this concrete jungle full of stuffed shirts.
I worked in corporate America for awhile and I hated it. I absolutely hated it. JP (my better half) saved me and told me I should quit and do what I loved doing and that he had my back. Now, 6 years later, I am doing what I love and doing well at it…. Except for this week.
In my life as a motorcycle photographer I possess unlimited amounts of self-confidence. I can be as funny and irreverent as I want to be and I am accepted. I can wear what I want and go where I want and ride what I want and my brothers and sisters exhibit not a hint of superiority or disdain for me. I revel in my fortune and you should too. Because let me tell you brothers and sisters… Corporate Sucks!
So although sometimes it gets damn hard to keep the lights on and make the alimony payment working in your garage and riding the country, it beats the alternative which is living under the thumb and by the rules of someone you can’t even remotely relate to much less respect.
Tomorrow is my last day here and I have to drag myself out of bed again at some ungodly hour to take pictures of fat cats sipping Starbucks coffee and stuffing Danish in their faces and then the final nail in my bruised psyche will be the final banquet dinner in the evening with fat, sweaty chicks in angora turtle necks dancing to 80’s music with their shoes off. I’m sure at some point my contact with the big ugly corporation will feel compelled to give me a review of my work and behavior during the conference and I am fully prepared for her to tell me that I will not be invited to San Diego in 2009 for the next conference at which time I am fully prepared to tell her that it is fine with me because although she may work for a really big corporation, I don’t work for anyone but myself and there isn’t corporate dividends in the world that could get me to come back to this hellacious job again.
I’d rather be broke and happy than a sell out and I know that you guys out there know exactly what I am talking about. Stay Gold and I’ll see you at the next rally. I’ll be the one in the inappropriate outfit telling dirty jokes and showing my tits. I hope you don’t fire me for it.
And that is how I see it, from behind the lens.
