The silent observer. The fly on the wall. The wedding photographer.
No wedding is complete without one, as they’re the lifeline behind all the Facebook cover photos, Instagram likes, and #TBTs around the couple’s first, second, and third anniversaries. But it’s no easy task perfectly capturing the magic of the most important day of the couple’s lives. After all, you really only get one try.
“Of course, I got here on time. If these bitches are already running behind, this whole day is going to be fucked from the start. And honestly, do they really need photos at this stupid salon? I can already hear them complaining about having to get up so early behind the bride’s back. All they’re going to do is sit around texting with their boyfriends about how they don’t want to be here. Oh, there they are. Time to act like I’m happy to be here.”
“Great, the bride is starting her hair. How the fuck am I supposed to take natural photos of her when she’s side-eyeing the camera the entire time making sure I’m getting her at her best angle? I mean, how many times is this chick going to ask me how the natural light is? That’s my job. That’s what I’m supposed to be worrying about. And I swear to God, if one more of these girls asks if I can send them the photos for Instagram, I’m going to take every one of these last photos from the most unflattering positions possible.”
“What was the point of catering this entire lunch at the salon of these girls are just going to pick at it? Like, one bite of a mini sandwich isn’t going to stop you from fitting into your bridesmaid dress. If no one asks if I want some of this glorious, untouched, free-range buffet, my suspicions that these girls are the worst will be completely confirmed. Fuck. Who am I kidding? There’s no way they ask me if I want some.”
“Oh, look, the bride is getting dressed. How many different ways are these girls going to fucking say ‘You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen!’ before it becomes completely and utterly meaningless? Like, we get it, you’re just being nice so they’ll feel pressure to be even nicer once your day comes along. This isn’t anyone’s first fucking rodeo.”
“I don’t know why these first look photos are a thing, but if it means I’m getting paid an extra three-figures per hour, then I’m fine with it. This groom couldn’t look more despondent than he looks right now. He’s either drunk from his round of golf with the groomsmen, on a bunch of Xanax, or is having serious second thoughts about making this thing legit. Actually, now that I think about it, this is the same way he looked when I took their engagement photos.”
“Okay, we’ve got an hour and forty-five until the show is officially on the road. But lucky me, I get to corral all the bridesmaids and groomsmen for pre-ceremony photos. Between telling the girls not to suck in so much and telling the groomsmen to take their sunglasses off, this is the most powerful I’ll feel all day. Should I tell the bitchy maid of honor that she has lipstick on her teeth or should I just turn her misfortune into an honest mistake? Ah, fuck it, I’ll just be bitched at to take it out in post-production, so I’ll go ahead and help a sister out.”
“Are all these couples going to regret playing this damn Ed Sheeran song at every single one of their weddings? What happened to the classics? Whatever. I’m just glad they didn’t request a videographer for this shit.”
“Man, the groomsmen are all lined up and they look hammered. Good for them. When my design business takes off, I’m definitely going to quit this shit and be one of those guys. Being a fly on the wall at these things sucks. But oh well, looks like I get to creep around this entire ceremony trying to take photos where everyone’s cell phones that they’re holding up aren’t visible.”
“Showtime. And yup, everyone’s got their phone out waving it in the bride’s face as she walks down the aisle. At least they’re not these dudes sneaking in through the back. I can already feel the tension building between them and their bridesmaid girlfriends.”
“Trying to get these guys away from cocktail hour will be my biggest feat today. Like, yeah, I’d rather be drinking too, but just take a few more fucking photos with me and we can call this a wrap until I take photos of you blacked out on the dance floor. The longer it takes for everyone to stop mingling, the longer these photos are going to bleed into the actual reception. Fuck. Whatever.”
“I don’t know how we finished that in a half-goddamn-hour, but I’ll take it. I’m just going to tool around the rest of this cocktail hour and take photos of the hottest chicks here while listening to everyone catch up about their shitty jobs, grad school, and who’s going to get married next. I could script these conversations for them if they really wanted me to. I should be using this time to go buddy-up with the bartenders and sneak in a few drinks.”
“I feel like such a tool just sitting here waiting for everyone’s grand entrance. If I had a dollar for every douchebag groomsmen entering a reception to ‘All I Do Is Win’ while wearing a neon pair of plastic wayfarers, I could retire in the Bahamas and not work this shitty photography job.”
“I’m taking a fuckin’ breather. It’s not like the bride wants me taking photos of her scarfing down food considering it’s the only real substance she’s had in the last four months. Let’s see if this bartender will toss some vodka-water in my water bottle.”
“…Yahtzee. Thanks, Ramon.”
“These wedding toasts are all the fucking same. They were wild in college, they found each other, settled one another down, and now they’re the happiest couple in the world who has a fifty percent chance of getting divorced. And really, Maid Of Honor? You ‘didn’t think you’d cry for this? Is that why you have a wad of Kleenex in your hands? Because you didn’t think you’d fucking cry?”
“At least they had some self-awareness during these first dances to use some Sinatra and Dean Martin. Sure, it doesn’t take away from the fact that the bride’s cousin was singing that Ed Sheeran song before the ceremony on his acoustic guitar, but this helps. At least everyone’s getting hammered now and I don’t have to watch my every move.”
“Oh man, these photos are going to be hilarious. The faces drunk white dudes make on the dance floor while trying to whip and nae-nae are priceless. I’m going to keep these on an external hard drive in case any of these motherfuckers try to run for office with an agenda built on raising taxes and building a wall between Texas and Mexico.”
“Is it really ‘so cute’ that the bride and groom are smearing cake all over each other’s faces right now? Oh… oh no. Did the groom just get some frosting all over her dress? She’s smiling through this right now but he’s going to hear about it when they get back to their hotel and he’s too drunk to have sex with her.”
“I can feel last call coming. Yeah, my vodka-water bottle is wearing off, but I don’t want to be drunkenly stuck here any longer than I have to be once they wrap this shit up. Besides, if I get caught in one more drunken conversation with someone in the wedding where they ask me not to use any shitty photos of them, I’m going to American Psycho the shit out of someone in the kitchen.
“Final stretch. You can do this. All we have to do is get everyone lined up for that final exit. Fuck it, though. I’m just going to stand next to car at the end of the entrance and wait for the wedding coordinator to arrange everyone. It’ll probably be another forty-five minutes while everyone pleads to the bartender that they should be served after last call anyway.”
“It feels like it’s too early for everyone to be lighting their sparklers… yup, too early. They’re going to have to hand out a bunch more and get them relit so I can get the perfect photo of the couple fake-laughing as they walk towards me. Oh well, another five minutes of my time is just a drop in the fucking well at this point.”
“And that’s a wrap. Can’t wait for this Sunday wedding tomorrow. Whatever. Same shit, different day.” .
Based on What Really Happens At Weddings.
Image via Shutterstock