Thirty eight reasons to have a minor melt down

In April of 2012, I shot my first concert at Metro, Chicago. And over the following year and into this one, I shot plenty more.

There is little to no pay in concert photography unless you’re shooting for a big magazine or you sell your images to stock. There’s a phenomenon in the photography industry that someone somewhere convinced photographers to do concerts gratis.

There are a shit ton of us out there, shooting for pebbles.

I was really looking forward to shooting this year’s Lollapalooza, but found out 2 weeks out that I wasn’t going to be shooting this year, because Lolla decided to only let in two photographers from any resource.

It was disheartening. I felt rejected. I felt that my work wasn’t good enough to get me into Lolla.

So I made the best of it, and scheduled other things. I also found out about that time that Alt-J was playing at a venue near my house, and lots of my friends were buying tickets to go. I thought it’d be great to shoot the show and then stay and watch the concert with my friends.

I made a request with Time Out Chicago for the gig on July 19, and my photo editor said, “It’s all yours. I’ll put in the request for the credentials.”

Yesterday, I sent an email to the photo editor, and she responded saying she got another request from another photographer before mine and that she gave it to the other photographer. So I wrote to the other photographer and said, “Hey, hope you’re well. Do you happen to have a time stamp date on your request to shoot Alt-J?”

She wrote back and said, “Aug. 26.”

Fuck! Not only did the photo editor lie to me, but I am now not able to attend the sold out show with my friends, including Tina … who NEVER goes to concerts.

So I wrote back to my photo editor with the screen cap of my conversation with the other photographer, a copy of my original email from July 19, and I said, “So here’s a screen cap of my conversation with the other photographer. She requested it over a month after me. However the fuck a person quits a job like this, I fucking quit.”

To add insult to injury, I wasn’t having that great of a day yesterday. Among things like my phone threatening to kick the bucket, I was having a minor melt down about a slew of other things that all culminated into a really grumpy attitude. To somewhat celebrate my birthday, we bought dry-aged steak from Whole Paycheck, and it must have been my damned-if-I-do, damned if I don’t attitude, but I fucking hated my steak.

Hated.

It is what it is, though.

Next year. I’m going to do it up right!

 

 

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