Smile, You're On Candid Camera
To see yourself as you want to been seen by yourself—priceless.
He was going through the mail and there it was, a Chicago traffic ticket. He had a pretty good idea it was a speeding ticket from one of the cameras on Irving Park. He had already snagged three in the last six months going to see his granddaughters Liv and Vera.
Or perhaps it was for running a red light.
He was indifferent as he opened the envelope.
Per usual he was expecting to see a photo of his license plate. He doesn’t remember how long ago it was when a cop pulled you over for speeding. He likes the current system. Nice and neat. No black mark on your driving record; no risk of an insurance bump.
Just pay the thing and it’s over.
He had it wrong this time. It wasn’t a speeding ticket on Irving Park. Nor was it a ticket for running a red light. It was for speeding in a construction zone. He didn’t pay attention right away to the details. The exorbitant $500 fine. The inconvenient mandatory court appearance.
What captured and sustained his attention was the photo of him. Yes, there he was, hands at ten and two, looking straight ahead. So, yes, they had him dead to rights. There would be no denying that he was the driver.
Let’s cut to the chase. He was thrilled with the photo. Why? He thought it might have been the best damn picture of him. Ever. We’re not joking around here. Prior to this photo, he had never taken a good one.
It’s true. Well, not completely. He’ll concede he was cute as a button and very photogenic during his toddler years. And, he did like his photo at his sister Holly’s wedding. He’s never said this aloud but he’s convinced that in that one, he’s a dead ringer for Al Pacino in the wedding scene in Godfather I.
Pretty amusing, right?
Almost up there when 40 years ago he told his mother that someone said he looked like Billy Crystal and she said, “No, you look like Tom Cruise.”
He’s told this story many, many times. He’s always played it for the laugh. He privately held out hope that someone would agree with his mother.
Like that ever happened.
If you don’t like having your picture taken, you’ll go to great lengths to avoid it. Should you be in a situation where you are forced to be in a picture, you’re not going to smile. When you don’t smile, you’re going to be told to smile. Hard to smile when you’re miserable. Good luck with that. Ok, they may get a wan smile.
Surprise, surprise, he’s been told, like a million times, he’s ruined a family photo because he’s not smiling.
His brother-in-law, who has done a lot of film and tv directing, believes the key to a good photo is to put your chin on your chest and look straight into the camera. Sure as shit, that’s what he does in every photo.To his credit, he always looks good.
Let’s get back his traffic ticket photo. He was surprised how much it delighted him. It was so him. Everything he likes about his appearance, which apparently no other camera has ever captured, was all there.
His youthfulness. His unappreciated handsomeness. Best of all, his secret power. His “hey, now there’s someone I’d like to know”-ness.
Yep, this one was a keeper. Until his court date six weeks hence.
Six whole weeks to have the best photo of himself ever. All to himself. No, he wasn’t going to blow this opportunity. He wanted to take it everywhere and show it off.
What if he lost it? The best picture he ever took. No, that photo wasn’t leaving the house. Instead he framed the ticket in an 8 x 5 frame and placed it on his desk next to the terrific photo of him and his father when he was a toddler and cute as a button.
A few specifics about the ticket. He was ensnared in an old fashioned speed trap. A construction zone where the speed limit had been reduced to 40 mph from 55. He was clocked at 58. Here’s the catch. It was a Saturday. A Saturday! When no one was working! That’s just not right.
He didn’t care a whit. For six weeks he lived with that perfect photo of himself. He used to complain to W that his desk chair was uncomfortable. That’s why he often worked at the dining room table. No longer. He was at his desk. Morning. Noon. And some nights.
To see yourself as you want to be seen by yourself—priceless.
As his court date approached, his euphoria gave way to sadness. How do you say good-bye to the self that is at last you?
Where does it say how?
Nowhere.
He showed up at his appointed court date at the appointed time. At least 100 people were in line ahead of him. The scuttlebutt was they were all caught in similar speed traps. $500 a pop. Times 100. That’s $50,000 a day!
The line moved slowly. That was fine with him. When his turn came, he had to give the ticket to the clerk. Yes, it was hard to let go. There was just enough tug for the clerk to give him a look. The judge told him if he pled guilty, paid the fine, and took a four hour driving class, his record would be expunged.
He was surprised how educational the class actually was. He learned that some rules of the road had changed over time. For instance, when merging onto a highway, the right of way now goes to the car that is merging.
Not earth shattering. Useful.
His record was wiped clean.
He went back to life as he knew it. Taking one bad picture after another. How he missed that traffic ticket photo. How sad it made him. What he would give to have it back. On his desk. Next to the photo of him and his father.
His grief grew.
It became unbearable.
He liked the film Thelma and Louise. Hey, that was Brad Pitt’s breakout role. The iconic end. What did Thelma and Louise say before Susan Sarandon revved the engine?
Here’s what they said.
Thelma: Ok, then listen. Let’s not get caught.
Louise: What are you talking about?
Thelma: Let’s keep going.
Louise: What do you mean?
Thelma: Go.
Louise: Are you sure?
Thelma: Yeah. Hit it.
The engine revs. The car takes off. Harvey Keitel chases. The car is airborne.
He thought about Thelma and Louise when he was driving that summer Saturday afternoon on Edens expressway. He had already scoped out the construction zone.
What did Thelma and Louise say? So perfect, he thought, if he could remember. He couldn’t.
His last words to himself before he revved the engine as he entered the speed trap….
Smile, buddy. Smile.
Do You Know This Man?: An Irreverent Memoir, is an ongoing exploration of the one character who eludes, confounds and mystifies. Me. Right now, it’s available for free, including being able to listen to some of my plays and dive into the best of Sportscape Magazine.
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