Wedding Woes

We were scheduled to begin the “getting ready” photographs at 12:30. I arrived at the hotel at 12:15. The bride had failed to call me back and tell me the room number so I checked in at the front desk to ask where the party was getting dressed.

“I’m not supposed to give out that information,” the receptionist told me, her brows inching together.

I gave her the smile I reserved for all hotel, DJ and serving staff, and saw her resolve lessen. It was an expression of mild irritation, mixed with a very slight humor, and dripping with empathy. It conveyed quite clearly that we were sisters in a profession that involved catering to idiots. “The bride didn’t know which room they were in and she forgot to call me when they got here,” I explained, still smiling.

She studied me for a moment and then turned toward the computer. I had won. “It looks like they have rooms 113 and 114.”

“Great.” I picked up my camera bag and started my way across the lobby. “Thanks so much.”

I stopped in the restroom and then continued to make my way down the hall. I knocked on the door of room 113 at 12:21 PM. There was no answer, so I took two steps to the right at knocked on room 114. No answer.

Glancing at my watch, I decided to wait in the lobby until 12:35 before calling the bride. They were probably a little behind.

I settled into an armchair across from the lobby TV and leafed through my client file with half an eye on the Disney Channel. Figuring I had a few minutes to spare, I pulled out my phone and called Paul to check in.

“Hi. The bridal party isn’t here yet so I thought I’d call to make sure you found the church.” We were on a tight schedule for the day so Paul had dropped me at the hotel and gone to the church to set up light for the formal portraits that were scheduled to be taken at 1:15.

“Yeah, I found it.”

“Good, you have any problems?”

“The church is locked, I guess you could call that a problem.”

“The church is locked?” Fantastic, that was what we needed. “You’ve tried all the doors?”

“Yeah.”

I sighed. “Okay, I’ll call the bride. I’ll call you back after I talk to her.”

Opening the file, I consulted the contact information and dialed the number. She answered. “Hi, this is Erin Simpson, I was just checking in to make sure that everything was okay.”

“Oh hi, Erin. Yes, everything is fine, We’re just running a little behind. We’ll be there in about a half hour.”

“Ok, that’s fine.” If by fine, you mean, a huge disaster of doom. I glanced at my watch. “So you should be here at about ten after?” No problem. As long as you can get completely dressed in five minutes, we’ll still be on schedule.

“Something like that.”

“Okay. Well, actually, I wanted to ask you something else. We need to set up lights at the church, and everything is locked up. Would you be able to get someone over there to unlock for us?”

There was a pause. Muffle voices. “Oh, Erin, you’re going to hate me. They aren’t going to unlock the church until three. Will that be a problem?”

No problem. Just because we have three hours of formals scheduled to be done before the ceremony, and the wedding starts at four…but no. That’s completely fine. No worries. We’ll just sit here and fold origami cranes until then. “Well, that does put us behind schedule a little, so we might have to pare down your photo list.”

“That’s okay.”

“Or, if you wanted to, we could do all the formals outside someplace.” May as well, you’re being charged for my time either way.

“Oh, yes, let’s do that!”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you call me when you get here and I’ll go out and see if I can’t scout out some good locations.”

“That sounds wonderful! Erin you’re great. We’ll be there in a little while.”

“Okay, see you then.” I hung up, sighed at called Paul. I explained the situation and asked him to pick me up. We had driven two hours to get here and, as a result, I wasn’t very familiar with the area. Fortunately, Paul had worked in the city several times over the course of the past few years, and he knew of a beautiful park with big stone walls and giant trees. I was starting to feel more optimistic.

With time to spare, we stopped to pick up some extra batteries before going back to the hotel. The bridal party had never called, but it was twenty after one by now so I assumed they’d just forgotten, they didn’t strike me as the most responsible people I had ever met.

Paul stretched out in the lobby to watch cartoons and I made my way to room 113, knocking on the door for the third time that day. I was accompanied by a member of the hotel staff who, having attempted to call the room a half dozen times, was desperately trying to inform the group that the flowers had arrived and needed to be removed from the reception area.

This time, the door opened and I was ushered in the bright chaoticism that was the bridal party. I pulled out my camera and starting snapping photos. This was easier said than done, as the room was intensely crowded and nearly every time I composed a shot, someone would inadvertently walk into my frame and I ended up with an image card full of people’s heads.

It took me several moments to locate the bride, whom I hadn’t met before. Our consultation was done, out of necessity, over the phone, and I had not idea what to expect.

She was a few years older than I had expected, and much heavier. She was the sort of woman who carried extra weight well, however, and she had a pretty face. I quickly realized that, not only did she have had the skin of a twelve year-old, she also had the organization.

At two o clock, it became clear that we were not going to be getting any formal portraits taken, outside or otherwise. The bride made the executive decision to have the pictures taken after the ceremony.

This particular bridal party was loud, disorganized, and, well, a bit odd. The entire experience was made ever more interesting by the fact that the bride had selected a “man of honor” in place of a woman. Contrary to what would seem to make sense, he was getting dressed in the ladies’ dressing room. This further complicated and crowded the already tight space by forcing the woman into the tiny bathroom to put on their dresses.

By 2:30 I more than ready to leave. I excused myself, saying we’re headed to the church to set up, packed my equipment and eagerly grabbed Paul from the lobby.

We drove across town and pulled up in front of the church. We tried the doors only to discover that they were still locked. To kill some time, we went into the salvation army store that was across the street. At three o clock we tried the doors again. Still locked. Great. At three-ten a woman in a red minivan pulled up beside us and got out.

“Are you here for the wedding?” Paul asked from the window.

“Wedding?” The woman looked confused, and the nervous, irritated feeling in my stomach that had almost disappeared suddenly came back full force.

“Isn’t there a wedding here today?” we asked hopefully.

“I don’t think so.” She studied us for a few moments and evidentally decided that we didn’t look particularity crazy. She pulled a phone out of her purse. “But I’ll call the pastor just to make sure.”

“I’ll call the bride to double check the location,” I offered, grabbing the file from the backseat of the car. I dialed, listened, and shut the phone. “No answer.” Surprise.

By this time, the woman had determined that there was no wedding scheduled for today, and gave us directions to the other Methodist church in town, just in case. No wedding there either. I called the bride again. And again.

We drove back to the hotel, but by this time, they had already left for the Methodist Church that I was now quite convinced was imaginary.

We explained our problem to the reception staff and they handed us a phone book, suggesting we try the Methodist churches in neighboring towns. By four PM, we had given up, and headed to the reception site to wait for the party.

I half wished them to be obscenely angry that we have missed the ceremony, so I could be angry as well, and remind them that it was their fault for giving us the wrong church. But… they we’re angry, they didn’t even seem annoyed. They were very easy-going, don’t cry over spilt milk- kind of people (which annoyed me), and said we could just take the formals now.

The light was beautiful, the peak of the golden hour, and the scenery wasn’t bad either, as it was an outdoor recreation center that had skiing in the winter, the bridal party, however, left something to be desired.

In the time that it took us to scout a location and herd the group outdoors, the groom and the best man had discarded their ties, one of the groomsman had changed shoes (you just carry an extra pair with you in your car, or what?), and the groom had procured a baseball had that he refused to part with. They were also completely wasted.

I did my best to line them up for pictures.

Paul extended his hand to an inebriated groomsman. “Can I hold that bottle for you, sir?”

He grinned; at least he was a happy drunk, but declined to part with his little bottle of happiness. “Naw, I’ll just put it in my pooocket,” he slurred.

Okay then. “Everyone look here at me, right at the camera.” I glanced in the viewfinder and cringed. The group was so ragged they looked like they were standing on a fault line. “Okay, one more time.” I pointed at the worst offenders. “Can I get you two to stand up really tall for me?” I’ll give you a sticker and a lollipop after we’re done. They struggled upright. “There you go,” I encouraged, “right there.” They smiled, and immediately lurched back to their previous positions. Good enough.

“Okay, everybody, look right here at me.”