Yet another Perfect chestnut emanating forth from Yours Truly.
Way to keep smile/smirk on face in midst of formal freelance gig =
find mischief, critique matters in behind-the-scenes fashion with fellow freelancers suited up as chefs/waiters/barkeeps/musicians, and snack when possible.
Told some chefkid that I hate coconut. Loathe coconut. Queried, in a secret room behind a secret door that the revelers would never discover, what's in these pink cookies. He said They're cherry, or raspberry.
Well, let me tell you. They were nothing other than dyed-in-the-can coconut and I later told another freelancer that this guy (who, at another gig, I chatted with as I hid behind a potted plant behind him to get some surreptitious party photos) had nearly poisoned me.
One more scenario. Bloated from booze and self-importance, one male lens victim said I'll strike a captain of industry pose. uh huh. So I made him and his mate put down their plates and cocktails and turned to her and said So he's striking a captain of industry pose, what do you want to be. To which Mrs. Him Whomever burst out laughing.
What was sorely missing tonight was the archetypal, booze-breathy question -
So, are you the OFFICIAL photographer.
No Captain, I'm actually a p.i. hired by your mistress to document your other life.
Snark Love.