While I was a student studying filmmaking, I worked as a “freelancer” to supplement my student loan. I was a pretty good cameraman from videotaping skidoo races back home. But I mostly worked on other student films for pizza and cigarettes. I got a call one time to do some photography from this older lady. She sounded like she just smoked a bale of tobacco and I wondered to myself if she was serious. She said she wanted to place some nice photos in the personals. The fifty bucks she offered sounded pretty good since I had about half an hour left of gas in my car and nothing in my fridge but baking soda.
I borrowed a camera and drove to her house. The Harley flag in the window should have been an indication of the “professional” nature of the shoot. “Misty” looked about seventy-five but she said she just turned fifty-two. Her skin looked about three sizes too big. She told me she wanted to place a photo in the personals because her last boyfriend went back to his wife. I said no problem. I asked her what kind of photos she wanted? She said she was looking for a younger man and wanted to do some “risqué” type photos.
I set up a light kit and made her bedroom look “intimate.” I was hoping she was putting on a nice dress and a fox stole but my worst fears were realized when she came in looking like an old hooker. She had enough makeup on to be an environmental hazard and her knobby knees did no justice to the tacky lingerie she was wearing. Her white high heels were scuffed and one of the buckles was broken. She reminded me of the song “Queen of the Silver Dollar” by Dr. Hook. “Her jewels are made of rhinestone, and her shoes are scuffed and worn.” At any rate, I sucked it up and reminded myself there was a job at hand.
I had her try some poses but she was going overboard with her sexuality and I was about to lose the precious bowl of oatmeal I’d eaten for breakfast. At one point I asked her to just lay there and look innocently into the camera, hoping to salvage a shot. Instead, she knelt on her knees and stuck her butt into the camera. That’s it, I had enough. I told her, “Look, you ain’t no spring chicken, and quite frankly, you look ridiculous.” Instead of throwing her broken shoe at me, she looked somewhat relieved. “Really?” she asked. “What should I do?” “Well” I said, “I’m in the imagination business.” So I wrote her ad for her.
Mature female looking for male companion for outdoor adventures. Have boat, truck, ATV, and snowmobile. Please send pictures, nude and clothed (she insisted.) She actually didn’t have any of that stuff. But she did have one of them loveseats that looks like a high heel shoe. We sold it for two hundred and fifty bucks and bought a 1981 Chevy truck with bald tires and eight track stereo. Then we traded her entire jewellery collection for a 1977 Honda three wheeler that we threw in the back of the truck. We found a twelve foot aluminum boat with a six horse kicker that we traded her big screen TV for. Then I found the jewel of jewels, a 1979 Twin Elan 250 skidoo. It was seized and rusting in this old lady’s backyard. We took it off her hands just to get rid of it. Since I had one as a kid, I knew exactly what to do. I stripped it and made a piston ring from a lard pail handle and sewed up the hood with snarewire.
She called me back two weeks later saying she was beatin’ men from her door. I think of her everytime I hear that song. “I’m the man, who made a queen, of a simple country girl.”