Camera Permits! Getcher Red Hot Camera Permits Here!

[rolanni]

Despite the fact that there are those who do not believe these things happen, or that they only happen to "assholes," "genuinely suspicious people," and/or "those who match a profile," I feel compelled to report a True Incident of My Own Life, which occurred on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 at Boston South Station. To wit:

kinzel and I were traveling home from Trinoc*CoN (con report forthcoming). We arrived at Boston South Station between 8 and 8:30 a.m. Because Boston North Station (from whence the Downeaster departs for Maine) is closed for the duration of the Democratic National Convention, we were scheduled to escape Boston via bus at 2:15 p.m. (as it turns out, this information, received from Amtrak, was ...not as correct as it could have been, but that's in the future -- bear with me).

So, Boston South Station, in the middle of a commuter rush hour. We arrive, dump our carry-ons at an empty table. These carry-ons include: One (1) Toshiba laptop; One (1) Alphasmart Dana; One (1) Olympus digital-with-optical-zoom camera; Two (2) tote bags filled with Stuff like books, magazines, necessary meds, extra bottles of water, and the like. We have yet to retrieve the checked-through bag.

Table claimed, I depart to make use of the justly famous BSS sanitary facilities, and return, after fording the flood-tide of commuters, to find kinzel putting his camera away. A female security guard stands nearby, but not close enough to be considered part of our group or our conversation.

"No cameras," kinzel says, which I process as a half-joke, considering his experience at the Manchester airport last November, nod, and mount guard over the table and our stuff while he goes off to collect the checked bag.

Standing (bliss, bliss, bliss!), I survey the area and notice a plush monkey on display at Sernade Chocolatier. It's an interesting monkey, in an interesting pose and place, and kinzel's camera has a loverly zoom; I can get the picture from where I'm standing.

So I take out the camera, power up, remove the lens cap and focus. I get two snaps of the monkey, then lower the camera to squint and consider composition.

"Excuse me, ma'am," says the guy in the tattered blue shirt with a Security patch over the pocket. "You are not allowed to take pictures in this building."

I blink at him, and pick up the lens cap.

"I'm not allowed to take pictures in the building?"

"Yes, ma'am. For security reasons."

"I see. Is there a sign, or a list of things I'm not allowed to do in this building, so I don't make any more mistakes?"

"No, ma'am," the security guy says politely; "that's why we're here." 'We' is actually the right pronoun, as he has been joined by the female security guard I'd noticed earlier.

"Unless," the guy continues, "you have a permit. If you have a permit for your camera, all you have to do is show it to us."

At this point, kinzel arrives with the checked bag, throws it to the floor at my feet and commences an entirely false fuss about the handles being unsnapped and what he was going to do to whom if anything had been stolen. I bend to help him unzip the bag, camera cradled against my stomach, and add my bit to the Fuss Factor. The two guards wander off.

"I told you," kinzel hisses. "No cameras."

"He said if I had a permit for the camera, all I had to do was show it."

Blink. Beat.

"Oh. Did he?"

...

So, I've written to my congresscritters, outlining this incident and asking how I get a camera permit. No answer yet, and I really don't expect one.

It's getting scary out there, folks...