|Mt. Hood was a little hazy, but anyway, this is what was going on|
across the street. I know, I can't believe we live here either.
Whenever these festivals hit the valley (and Lord, there are a ton of them, because we are all about the tourists), the newspaper sends staff out to take pictures of whatnots so we can have a photo collage in the next issue. So that's what I did: I went to a nearby craft bazaar and tried to find something worthy of my camera.
(That is kind of a joke because my camera is kind of a joke, but whatever. Ever undaunted, I continue on.)
I can never remember to bring a pen along to write down names when I take pictures for the paper, so I gravitated towards people I already know. That's how you solve THAT dilemma. Also: Unbiased journalism! Also: Since it was Easter Sunday, the masses were not out enjoying the craft bazaar. It was sort of depressing, but also not surprising.
Anyway, I decided to walk though this out-building of sorts, where sometimes the middle school teachers sell plant bulbs, thinking that might be a good photo op. Instead, I was quickly herded into the senior center booth, where I got entered into two free raffles (I can't even remember the prizes, the whole thing was kind of against my will) by a woman who also wanted me to volunteer to drive for Meals on Wheels. Which is an admirable program and one I would support if not for my day job. But she was persistant. She was all, if you're a teacher, you can drive just during the summer! And I was like, um, I am not a teacher, actually, and she was all, well, you look like a teacher, and I was like, no, actually I work for the paper. And silence. And then she looks at my ticket stubs and is like, you're Trisha Walker?
And honestly, I got a little vain. I thought, here we go, because I write a weekly column featuring someone from the community (this month's theme is teachers, last month was people over 80, which was really awesome) and I get a lot of comments on that, as well as a lot of suggestions on who to cover next. It's a little odd to be recognized by people you don't know, but I'm getting used to it. Mostly it's nice. I mean, having your words appreciated? That's just cool.
But instead of going on about my articles, the lady says, Eric was just here! You're brother, Eric Walker!
And I was like, yeah, no, not my brother.
So this was a lesson in humility is what I'm saying. Or maybe humiliation. Well, either way, the moral of this story is: Stay away from the senior center booth if you want to keep your misplaced self-importance in tact.