\n\u201cSpeaking.\u201d
\n\u201cHello, I\u2019m phoning about an image of mine printed in last Sunday\u2019s paper.\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d
\n\u201cYou know, the paper you print on\u2026 well\u2026 Sunday. The day before yesterday.\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d
\n\u201d Well, there was one of my images, printed in last Sunday\u2019s edition, I was wondering who was contacted concerning permission to use it.\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t have the paper in front of me, hold the line a second.\u201d (follows a long hunt for the edition in question, interspersed with comments from a distance along the lines of \u201cSome wierdo on the phone\u201d \u201cWhat\u2019s he want?\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t know, something about a picture.\u201d amidst a rustling of paper and finally approaching steps.)
\n\u201cOkay, I have it, what page?\u201d
\nI give the page, explain which image, where.
\n\u201cAnd?\u201d
\n\u201cWell, I wondered where you went to get permission to use it, since it\u2019s not credited.\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d
\n\u201cLet me rephrase that more clearly. DID you get permission to use it?\u201d
\n\u201cNo\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cYou just printed it like that?\u201d
\n\u201cUh-huh.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry, but is that how you normally work? Just print pictures without wondering where they are from?\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d
\nI\u2019m starting to loathe this conversation, and beginning to feel like it\u2019s all my fault for making a fuss – well, not a fuss, really, I\u2019m practically apologizing for bothering this individual by now.
\n\u201cYou know the image is under copyright.\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d
\n\u201cPerhaps I should put you in touch with the editor?\u201d
\n\u201cYou mean for money?\u201d
\nNow I feel like a space alien whose GPS fouled up on entry into the troposphere. I have landed outside a roadside hamburger joint in Iowa instead of the UN and when I say \u201cTake me to your leader\u201d the dimwit burger jockey slopes off and returns with his \u201cleader\u201d. Heaving into view is a monstrous belly in a grubby t-shirt, topped with an unshaven oval countenance complete with a cigarette butt bobbing in the corner of a batrachian mouth. The being is holding a spatula and a fly swatter and I bet there\u2019s a sawed-off shotgun under the counter. What AM I going to tell them when I get back home? If I get back home. I just knew<\/em> this whole thing was a bad idea.
\n\u201cTake me to your leader.\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d
\n\u201cSorry, can I talk to someone else please? This is giving me a headache.\u201d<\/p>\n
Actually, rewind to the space alien, that\u2019s where this conversation petered out in contrite mumbling on my part. The next day when the journalist phoned to apologize and I felt even worse. John Howe\u2019s not here I said, he left the country, he uhh\u2026 got plastic surgery, and\u2026 changed his name and went pearl diving in Iceland. Maybe it was surfing. Yes, in the Kalahari. Or the Gobi. No, I\u2019m sorry, he didn\u2019t leave a forwarding address.<\/p>\n
I recently had another surreal conversation, this time from an agency that promised to INCREASE MY MARKETPLACE VISIBILITY, ENHANCE MY CONTACTS and AUGMENT MY CLIENT BASE. (Gee! All that!)<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Howe, John?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, speaking.\u201d
\n\u201cMay I speak to the director of marketing please?\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s me.\u201d (Here I resisted the urge to say \u201cHold the line please, I\u2019ll see if he\u2019s free\u201d, then head off, make a coffee, do a bit of gardening and come back to see – bip bip bip bip – if they had given up.)
\n\u201cMr. Howe, our company can increase your marketplace visibility, enhance your contacts and augment your client base.\u201d
\n\u201cMay I ask you how you found my phone number?\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d
\n\u201cI had it removed from all the directories a while ago, I was just curious how you found it.\u201d
\n(There is a second\u2019s pause while this information is processed.)
\n\u201cThis is a graphics studio? I\u2019m speaking to Mr. Howe?\u201d
\n\u201cAbsolutely!\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you\u2019re not in the phone book?\u201d
\n\u201cOf course not, otherwise people phone me all the time.\u201d
\n(Slightly longer pause; this is obviously more information than can be processed easily.)
\n\u201cYou see,\u201d I continued helpfully, \u201cif I\u2019m in the phone book, people will be able to find my number. And call me up. Like. You. Are. Doing. Now.\u201d
\n\u201cBut\u2026 you have a graphics studio.\u201d
\n\u201cIndeed.\u201d
\n\u201cBut you\u2019re not in the phone book?\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s right, otherwise it\u2019s too easy to find my number.\u201d
\n\u201c?\u201d (By this time, he is convinced the \u201cgraphic studio\u201d thing is a front and I\u2019m running a speakeasy or selling pot to high school kids.)
\n\u201cListen, as much as I\u2019m enjoying this conversation, I dont feel that we\u2019re making much progress. I don\u2019t want better market visibility or anything enhanced or enlarged and the only thing I want even less is people who phone me up to try to sell me something I don\u2019t want.\u201d
\n\u201cBip bip bip bip\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
Boy, he sure needs work on his customer communication skills.
\nI often feel very sorry for people trying to sell services.
\nON A LIGHTER NOTE<\/p>\n
This is the kind of nebulous goings-on that sends me flying out of the house in a trice. (And even in my bare feet, if the clouds look like they are in a hurry.) The neighbours are accustomed to seeing me dodge traffic (cloud chasing, clutching camera) and limp back home (memory card saturated), more often than not sodden and dishevelled, but indubitably delighted. I\u2019m sure they shake their heads in puzzlement, but discreetly.<\/p>\n
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