An Unfortunate Series of Forgetfulness, Lighting Fiascoes and Chickiebooms

I’m going to tell you this story – not only because it’s personally embarrassing – but because the inadvertent results of my carelessness were so ridiculously beneficial – which goes to show all things DO work together for good – at least some of the time.

My friend Alison is a single mother with two young kids. She lives with her eccentric single father who once played in my band. Post-divorce, Al is trying to get her life in order. I’m very proud of her. She’s a wonderful art photographer who is just beginning to delve into the world of studio photography. Fine. She rented a small studio in a bad section of town. She and her studio-mates bought some equipment – three lights and other various photography studio stuff.

I would like to note here that owning lights does not necessarily make one a studio photographer, any more than my buying a tractor would make me a wheat farmer. So without going into painful detail, Alison’s first foray into portraiture didn’t go so well. She was feeling a little defeated, and flew to her uncle’s house in California for a long weekend.

Al called last week asking if she could borrow my digital camera – because it takes larger photos than hers. Fine. She said she was flying home late Monday night, would swing by my house and pick it up.

The embarrassing thing is – that even as Alison’s plane landed, I was out with Dave. I had completely forgotten about her – and to make a long story short, by the time I got to my phone, there were six frantic “Kell, where are you?” messages on the cell phone I left in my car…. The last said, “I’m going home now… I don’t know what else to do…” However, not all of the messages were from Alison. In a frantic attempt to salvage her already tenuous feelings of professionalism, Alison called Dave (who, of late, frequently doesn’t even have his phone turned on) AND our band mate, Fran. Fran called, worried that I had unsuccessfully train spotted…

Fran’s phone number was on a list on Al’s dad’s refrigerator. Al’s dad had left the band, so the phone list wasn’t the most current. Alison dialed. The number USED to be Fran’s. But was now his ex-wife’s… And late that night, Fran’s ex-wife answered.

Ms. Ex-wife is not the friendliest woman in the world. When I first joined the band, I thought it was odd that she never wanted to meet me… I figured that if a woman joined a band, all the wives would want to meet her… But no, in the last days of their co-habitation, Fran’s wife never came to gigs, never poked her head into rehearsal to say hello, and never seemed remotely curious to meet the new chick in the band.

Clearly, she wasn’t interested in meeting the daughter of a band member, either. So of course, she didn’t recognize Alison’s voice on the phone. Upon hearing a youngish chickieboom asking to speak with her ex-husband, the sleepy woman got short, said, “you’ve got the wrong number,” and hung up. I’m sure that was an interesting moment. I may have liked to be a fly on the wall – just for that moment.

I called Alison at 6:30 the next morning and arranged to drop off equipment at her studio. When she told me about Fran’s ‘Ex, I asked if I could tell Fran. Regardless of the fact that I’ve barely met the woman, and have no right to judge her, I was amused at the thought of that phone call. Fran was equally pleased. He asked if I would tell Alison he owes her a beer.

As I mentioned, the embarrassing photography incident ended well. I was able to set up Al’s lights for her – and he photos were all the better for it. She thanked me – a lot – “Don’t worry,” I said, “Someday, I’ll need you to fund my projects!”