Disaster happens. It’s only a question of when. For me, a few seconds mean the difference between a close call and an irreparable failure.
The bride and groom are listening to the officiant with nervous smiles. The small ballroom is tightly packed, and the guests are quiet. Everyone knows the moment is almost here.
It’s a pleasantly dim hotel ballroom. I’ve got my flash turned off. I’m crouched at the back of the aisle, camera perched just below my eye. We’re approaching the moment when the officiant will smile and say, “You may kiss.”
It’s tough to predict how long the kiss will last. This couple is in their late 20s – fully formed adults, content in each other’s company without having to be demonstrative. I’m guessing I’ll have a couple of seconds at most.
I do a quick gear check. All settings are go on my main camera.
It’s time. My 40-year old knees grumble as I rise from my crouch.
Click-click-click-click during the kiss, then it’s done. Smiling faces and flushed cheeks as they turn to face us.
Here they come, receding up the aisle arm in arm. Click, click, click, I shoot and pull back… The groom looks proudly into the camera and–
My viewfinder is suddenly blocked by a dark, diagonal rectangle. I press the shutter again.
Clunk, with a faint rattle.
The couple passes me and I pull the camera away from my face. My control panel flashes an error message.
This is not happening…
As they exit to the lobby, I scramble after them, pulling my second camera up to grab a couple of shots from behind. All I get is backs of heads.
I hurry over to my second shooter. “My camera is dead. Stay with them.” She nods, wide-eyed, and runs after the happy couple. My heart is beating out of my chest.
I duck into an alcove, pop the lens off of my camera, and see that the shutter has come completely unhinged. It’s hanging at a drunken angle, like someone tossed it into the body of the camera as an afterthought.
Yep. It’s dead.
Fortunately my second shooter keeps her cool. She’s working the receiving line like nothing’s wrong. I switch my all-purpose lens onto my second camera, take a deep breath, and hustle over to join her.
My second camera, that poor, maligned old beater with 700,000 clicks on its odometer, is a trooper and gets me through the rest of the night.
It wasn’t until I was on my way home that my mind started spinning around all the what-ifs. What if the shutter had broken 20 seconds earlier? I would’ve missed the kiss and the whole recessional.
What if I hadn’t had a second shooter for the receiving line?
What if the shutter had ricocheted like shrapnel inside the camera and damaged my lens?
What if this had happened at any number of weddings early in my career, before I could afford a second camera? I would have been up the creek without a paddle – probably fired on the spot and punished with a bad Yelp! review. My fledgling photography career would have ended before it began.
But it didn’t. On this day, I was the luckiest kind of unlucky. The camera died right after I caught the must-have moment, and I had a dependable backup to get me through the rest of the night. It was a few seconds of freefall, but whew, it could have been so much worse.
The couple had a great reception. I never told them about the camera malfunction. To this day, I don’t think they know it happened.
Be prepared, friends. Control what you can control, and be a decent human being. Hopefully karma will be kind.