This story just occurred to me.
One of my earliest photo assignments for The News Record, I went to a bar to get pictures for a review. I completely overestimated my own knowledge of this camera, so I figured I would take the assignment. What could be easier than snapping pictures of a restaurant? I told all my friends how I was going to go to this restaurant and they would probably be in the paper. A couple decided to come with me and the assignment developed into a dinner date, as well.
I had just gotten my camera and (as stated before) grossly overestimated my own ability to use it. The camera was set to auto-everything and I had only ever taken pictures in the daylight when it was certain to produce nicer pictures. I had been instructed to change my settings to manual and start metering all my shots. That's when things changed. I had all my numbers backwards which made it difficult to quickly determine which numbers to set on my camera to get a well-lit shot (still have to remind myself to this day which numbers are lighter or darker). I also had no clue what ISO was and believe I may have shot all my pictures from that night at ISO 100 (the lower the ISO the less light a camera will take in). So, I proudly arrive at an ill-lit bar without any suspicion that I was carrying around a camera that wouldn't be able to capture enough light to make a picture adequately visible.
This place was called "Bagpipes Irish Pub," located in your local Cincinnati downtown. Aside from this being my first photo-trip it was also both me and my friends' first trip downtown. All of us were a little on edge, using the phone GPS to direct us there and seeming very stereotypical as we watched it closely for the next change. We completely forgot about parking and circled a couple blocks before we found a spot at a distance that was too far for us to look like we knew the area, but close enough that the length of the walk there made no negative impression on us. As we stepped into the establishment, we were greeted by a Guinness Harp and an over-friendly host who quickly showed us to a table that wasn't even in the vicinity of the bar but in a rather silent backroom that was awaiting rush hour and a couple reservations. My group and one other couple were sitting at wide, circular, and rather cushy booths looking out to the empty tables. Our drink orders were promptly taken although we did not see the beverages until much later.
While waiting for the elusive drinks, I parted from my friends to look around the place, carrying my doomed camera with me. Occasionally, I'd snap some photos but what really got me was how nice the place was. A shiny, blue stage greeted me as I re-entered the room with the bar. A circular bar that enclosed a crystal clean tap with an assortment of glasses like I had never seen before and on either sides were high booths filled to the brim with customers. The bar was lively and many waitresses milled around in kilts taking orders and mingling with the patrons. I began to dwell upon all the Irish pubs my father had dragged me to over the course of my 19 year old life (and I went to many pubs). Never had I seen such a beautiful pub.
That's when it hit me. Beautiful? Pub? Those words don't seem to make sense together. All the pubs I'd been to were crowded, intensely noisy, and entirely unkempt. Pubs should be built into the dirt of the ground; uneven floors, oddly placed tables, but with a staff that is highly attuned to their customers and knowledgeable about the menu. Something I did not see at Bagpipes. I also found myself taken aback by the lack of an Irish name for the place. Why "Bagpipes"? The Irish do have their own version of the instrument but aren't bagpipes notoriously Scottish? In the past, I have been to Irish pubs with names like "Fado's," "O'Hooley's," or "Hannah Flanagan's." Something that screams "This place is full of beer and red-haired individuals." I questioned all this in my head as I steadily took pictures. The final thing that pestered me about the place was the waitress uniform. A white shirt and a kilt. A plaid kilt, at that. While again the garments are prominently Scottish, the Irish wear a solid colored kilt instead of plaid. A minor mistake, but if the owners want to call this an "Irish Pub," I think there is a responsibility to cover all the bases, right down to the waitresses' uniforms.
At precisely the right moment, I peeked back around to my table to see the drinks being served and I sat down to think about what I wanted to eat. The prices were higher than I expected them to be, especially for what little they had to offer, so I choose the cheapest - but most appetizing - dish on the menu. The room had started to fill with people and my friends were excited as we chatted for the rest of the night. I returned home that evening excited to upload my photos only for that feeling to come crashing down when I realized how poorly each frame had turned out. I turned in the best few I could possibly pick out (probably to the dismay of my editor). I reflected on my own time at Bagpipes as I read the story my picture sat next to in the following issue. They author wrote a fairly positive review of the place but it did not seem to me that he had ever been to multiple Irish pubs.
My friends seemed to enjoy the place, but they don't scrutinize things as much as I tend to. I suppose this trip wasn't that great, but it proved a learning experience for me.
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