When I was a teenager, The Dad didn’t want me to have a job while I was in school. I’m not entirely sure when I would have had time, anyway, between keeping my grades up, six hours of band practice a day and writing hundreds of pages of terrible fanfiction while I dated a series of nice guys (including Mister E) in between dating one horrible one.
As soon as I graduated, all bets were off and I immediately got a job within walking distance of my mother’s house so I could earn a little cash to line my pockets during my first semester in college. The job in question was in the photo lab at the pharmacy where my mother did all her prescription filling.
Photo labs are an interesting place to work. Back then, cameras still used film and people bought CDs so we were always busy. It also helped that we were situated right between the university and a high school, both of which are known for their photo-happy populations. It was a part time job, but I often stayed late to help process film and close the lab. This meant I got to shred all the photos that people didn’t want, which in turn meant that I got to see some hilarious photo mishaps and amassed a pretty decent collection of photos of celebrities and strippers.
Shredding duty wasn’t the only time I got to see hilarity, though. You see, unless they were showing penetration, masturbation or stuff suggesting kiddie porn happening in the photos we developed them. I never saw anything worth calling the cops over, but I did advise a few people that there were mail-away services in the back of adult magazines for their type of art photos.
One particular day, I was working with a lady I’ll call Aretha because she looked just like a version of the singer who was constantly caught in a state of disapproval. I liked her because she always had what she called “church stories,” which was her way of telling me the gossip that went around her congregation. Pregnancies, affairs, terrible pie, Aretha knew all and told all without holding back.
I developed a roll of film just before lunch that consisted of an entire roll of pictures of a very pretty young black lady in various states of undress, most of which involved hot pink lingerie. Aretha took one look and shook her head, proclaiming that to be one of the girls from her church. I could tell she was excited about spreading this tidbit around the ladies, but first she wanted to confirm that it was indeed the harlot in question. So she looked at the envelope and discovered that the person who had dropped off the film was none other than her pastor himself.
I actually skipped lunch in favor of hiding behind the photo developing machine so I could watch the fun when the pastor showed up to claim his order. I wish camera phones had been a thing back then because I would have snapped about eight hundred pictures of the look on his face when Aretha stepped up to the register, presented him with his envelope, said “uh-huh” and asked how he wanted to pay for his pictures. I had a feeling the pastor was going to be paying for those pictures for a long, long time once Aretha got back within reach of a telephone.
Remember, kids, always develop potentially embarrassing photos at home or in another county. Or just take video and slap it up on Youtube. Make you famous.