BurningMonkey
TheMan In TheMirror
- Joined
- Jan 21, 2014
- Posts
- 4,861
Ben Crawford parked in the designated staff lot and got out of the car, leaning into the back seat to grab his briefcase. He had the usual First Day at New Job jitters, but not too bad; this was something he knew and understood. He’d taught before, and he had years of photography experience behind him, so he was objectively confident that he could do this. But that didn’t count when it came to psychology. He’d never started any job in his life without the usual mild back-of-the-mind panic. He shrugged it off, squared his shoulders, and started towards the entrance.
Which was impressive, as he knew from coming for the interview. Brick, and marble, with arabesques and bas-relief and statues flanking a shield inscribed with some Latin motto that he hadn’t bothered to learn what it meant. An old school; a distinguished and well-kept school. A school where they could afford to have up-to-date equipment in the photo lab, which he had made a point of checking out during the interview process.
He bemoaned the modern way of doing things, but it couldn’t be helped—the world moved on, and he had to move with it. So much of today’s “photography” was post-production, digitally playing with backgrounds, changing colors, textures, backgrounds, hazing out this, sharpening that, cropping, cutting and pasting… He cursed the day Photoshop was invented, as he counted the demise of photographic art from that point. These days all the “art” lay in sophisticated algorithms and the manipulation of code.
The one saving grace to all this--aside from the salary, of course--was that his niece attended here. She was a senior, just getting ready to launch herself onto the world, which in her case meant college at a good university. He was looking forward to seeing her again. He'd always liked her, though they hadn't seen each other in almost ten years. Ben had had a falling out with her mother, his sister, over what he considered her crass and shallow pursuit of money. It would be nice to re-establish a connection, there, if it could be done. The sins of the mother shouldn't be visited upon the daughter...
He made his way through the halls swarming with young women in school uniforms to the office, where he popped his head into Principal Mentieth’s office to say hi. Never hurt to schmooze the boss a little. Then he checked his mailbox, checked his class schedule, and wandered off to try to find his homeroom assignment amid the archaic room numbering system that had been put in place when the building went up and no one had bothered to change since.
Which was impressive, as he knew from coming for the interview. Brick, and marble, with arabesques and bas-relief and statues flanking a shield inscribed with some Latin motto that he hadn’t bothered to learn what it meant. An old school; a distinguished and well-kept school. A school where they could afford to have up-to-date equipment in the photo lab, which he had made a point of checking out during the interview process.
He bemoaned the modern way of doing things, but it couldn’t be helped—the world moved on, and he had to move with it. So much of today’s “photography” was post-production, digitally playing with backgrounds, changing colors, textures, backgrounds, hazing out this, sharpening that, cropping, cutting and pasting… He cursed the day Photoshop was invented, as he counted the demise of photographic art from that point. These days all the “art” lay in sophisticated algorithms and the manipulation of code.
The one saving grace to all this--aside from the salary, of course--was that his niece attended here. She was a senior, just getting ready to launch herself onto the world, which in her case meant college at a good university. He was looking forward to seeing her again. He'd always liked her, though they hadn't seen each other in almost ten years. Ben had had a falling out with her mother, his sister, over what he considered her crass and shallow pursuit of money. It would be nice to re-establish a connection, there, if it could be done. The sins of the mother shouldn't be visited upon the daughter...
He made his way through the halls swarming with young women in school uniforms to the office, where he popped his head into Principal Mentieth’s office to say hi. Never hurt to schmooze the boss a little. Then he checked his mailbox, checked his class schedule, and wandered off to try to find his homeroom assignment amid the archaic room numbering system that had been put in place when the building went up and no one had bothered to change since.