So, there I was.The young woman behind the counter was saying something that seemed to sound like, "I'm sorry, I can't give you this."
Huh?
"You stumped me, Steffie, what the hell are you talking about?" Yeah, well, I was thinking that. Instead of speaking, she spotted the blank look of entire loss on my face and kindly pointed to the receipt attached to the large envelope.
Across that receipt, written in longhand, was "This looks like professionally copyrighted work."
Still stumped, I smiled. She smiled back. That's when she paid me one heck of a compliment.
"Was this picture taken by a professional?"
"Yeah, me."
I laughed. She was a little nervous.
"If it's yours, you'll have to sign a release."
She wasn't kidding. The release was now pushed across the counter between us along with a pen. Happily, I signed off with a bit of chutzpah, a trace of swagger, a pinch of panache.
The above photo, they were certain, was so good it had to have been professionally done and whoever had ordered an enlargement, and that would be me, surely had lifted it somewhere. That the chump now picking up the print, again me, couldn't have taken this photo. He did.
Geez, thanks for being so nice...
