Occasionally random people decide they must have a picture of me. It feels like I am being followed by paparazzi. They appear out of nowhere with their phones, sometimes hiding behind poles, sometimes blatantly flashing in my face. I assume they need the photos to show their friends, because I am not famous (yet.) I don’t understand the compulsion to take pictures of me getting toilet paper at Walgreens or looking haggard on the subway. But as my mother always says, there is no accounting for taste.
Last week after a tiring day at work, my paparazzi showed up, while I was waiting for the train. It was ungodly hot, which means the subway platform smelled like a mixture of rotting trash and body odor. The only thing I was thinking about was getting back to Brooklyn and my wine store. I turned to see if the A train was on its way when I noticed a man out of the corner of my eye framing a shot. Since I was the only one standing in his sight line, I turned quickly. Weirdly, he didn’t notice that I noticed him or maybe he didn’t care. He took another photo while I was staring him down. Then I watched him scroll through his photos, one of my ass and the other of my angry mug. I became enraged, well not enraged but annoyed, so I took a photo of him. He wasn’t paying attention, because he was too busy scrolling through his food porn. I figured if he got what he wanted, I should get something from the encounter too. Now I am sharing it with you. (You are welcome.)
Here is his photo.
I do wonder what he tells his friends when showing the picture of me. I imagine his friends are not that interested. This guy doesn’t look like he tells a good story and let’s be honest he doesn’t have a story to tell. I was standing there and he took a picture.
This is how I imagine the conversation going.
Guy: This was the macaroni I had at Friday’s, Saturday night.
Friend:Uh huh
Guy: This is called tiramisu.
Friend: Wow
Guy: This is a midget I saw on the A train platform. I think they like to be called Little People. It looked like it was going home from work. Can you believe it?
Friend: Amazing
Guy: She was just standing there, so I had to take a picture.
Friend: (Rolls Eyes) Whoah, coming home from work, that’s crazy.
Guy: Yes, and this is the steak I cooked last night.
I imagine at this point the “Friend” excuses themselves for an “emergency.”
So the moral of this story is, don’t bore your friends with photos of me.
1. I’m not that interesting.
2. I will post your photo on my blog.
thats effed up!! just wrong! like the creep of a lady in the movie the station agent..my fave movie!! glad I found your blog. 🙂 new reader now!
Thank you Mary!
I LOVED this post and how you handled the situation! Such a perfect way to work out the unfairness of it all. Of course, this guy would never stumble across his public outing of his Neanderthal behavior.. ,
Bravo! I am a Mennonite girl in Lancaster, and there is a buggy tour route that goes right past the inn where I work. Tourists often snap pictures of me, and I’m so tempted to do what you just did and take a picture of them! Dwarfism is in my family genetics; I have one dwarf cousin, and had another dwarf cousin who passed away about a year or so ago. I admire your persistence in dealing gracefully with your life!
I wish I lived in NY because I’d love to meet you…not because you are a dwarf but because you have a great sense of humor and a great sense of the ridiculous. I also would like to meet your family who so clearly saw to that you had the chance to try whatever you wanted and gave lots of love but no molly-coddling (I’m a southerner so I don’t know if people use “molly coddling” outside of the south.) Anyway, I just started reading your blog. And I love it. Thanks foe sharing and educating us.
Just found you via your wonderful CNN article – you are incisive, smart and hilarious! I will bookmark your blog for sure.
Man, some people must lead such incredibly boring and sheltered lives. I LOVE that you took his picture. You may have to start a whole new blog to post pics of losers like that…people who have apparently been living under rocks. Love your writing.
Times could be changing, hope so. My daughter went to school for years with a “Big Bob” and “little Bob” natually I thought they were two average size boys of different height. One day “little”
Bob came over for a Halloween festivity. I loved that dwarfism was never once mentioned in his description. I mentioned this to her and she wondered why it mattered. It’s not like she didn’t recognize his difference was Dwarfism, it just was a non-issue not pertinent to any part of a
The story being told. Gives one hope.
It sure does! Thanks for sharing!