“Do you like money?”
That was what I heard after saying “hello” to answer a call from an unknown number on a less-than-ideal day in 2012.
At least the food was good.
I was sitting with friends at a local restaurant, savoring a dinner of hot wings. We had all met that night in support of my current employment status—actually, the lack there of. A day or so prior, I had been let go of my job—for the second time. The first time, I was asked to leave for the day because there wasn’t enough of a work load to keep me there. My supervisor and I talked later that day and worked out a new, part-time schedule. It lasted about six months. This time, it was permanent. I was apprehensive, but I had also anticipated this moment. I had already begun finding my own clients. The plan for some time had been to go out on my own. This just fast-tracked it a bit. But it was okay.
I was young and hungry and ready for (almost) anything.
We were maybe 10 minutes into our meal when the unknown number popped up on my phone. This pre-dated spam calls on cell phones, so I answered.
“Hello”?
“Hi, You don’t know me, but my name is Samantha. Do you like money?”
Was this a joke? Did they know I was just laid off? I heard her say a name, but really, who was this? After what must have only been another 10 seconds, I got enough information to build some context. Samantha was a wedding planner. It was a Friday evening, and the rehearsal she was overseeing for a wedding ceremony the next day took a turn when she and the bride agreed to abruptly fire the videographer, likely only minutes before this phone call.
Samantha had gotten my phone number from a chance encounter with a friend of mine, who honestly at the time, was more of a casual acquaintance. And that encounter was six months ago when he briefly mentioned my name after she inquired about people who worked in video production. It’s very clear with that background in place, Samantha was desperate for help.
She quickly laid everything out for me. They needed a wedding videographer ready to cover the whole day, including shots of the women getting ready, and the guys getting ready, and a ceremony, and the reception. Oh, and a highlight film AND full ceremony edit. And they needed me ready to start filming in about 15 hours.
Insert vomiting emoji.
I had always sworn I would film anything. Anything, EXCEPT weddings., which were a hard no. I had even been asked before by a friend (coincidentally, a friend I was having dinner with at this very moment), and I said no. I had photographed one wedding before, but for me, at this time, filming a wedding was a whole different beast than photographing a wedding.
But now? Well, now I was jobless, with no paycheck coming…except maybe from this bride? And speaking of money, what would I even charge? I threw out what I thought was a high number which was met on the other end of the call with an immediate “perfect!”.
“Perfect” means I could’ve gotten more.
I have no memory of where my head was over those next 15 short hours. I wonder if I even slept? Years later, I would spend hours packing and charging and prepping a trunk full of gear. But at this time, I had maybe one or two cameras, one extra lens and a tripod or two. I also had a very benevolent assistant, my wife, giving me a little physical but mostly moral support throughout the day. That alone may be the only way I made it through.
I remember arriving and going up to the hotel room where the women were getting ready. Within seconds of introductions, the record button had been pressed and we were off. And that’s when my mindset shifted, almost on a dime. The fear I had fostered for the past 15 hours was gone. I had an objective that only I could accomplish, and my body and mind did what they needed to for me to do the job (see the end result below).
And that was it, the start of my eight-ish years doing wedding films. The funny thing is, for those eight years, the routine never changed. When I knew I had a wedding on a Saturday, fear would set in on the prior Monday morning. It was a totally irrational fear. Nothing ever happened that warranted me having such a fear. Well, except when I lost my keys after a ceremony with gear stuck in my trunk, or when I missed a bridesmaid walking down the isle, or when my camera malfunctioned seconds before the bride walked down the isle, or when I was stranded in the Pittsburgh airport the day before a HUGE wedding in Charleston, or when I got into an automobile accident in between a ceremony and reception. But those situations all worked themselves out, and everyone was happy.
Even still, I always carried the enormous weight of what a wedding day meant to those involved, and how my video would be such a big part of how they remember that day years later. If that wasn’t enough, I always envisioned worst-case scenarios and career-ending accidents: losing footage, creating a video no one liked, or my favorite fear, tripping over/into the wedding cake. But of course, none of that ever happened. The worst thing to happen in my career (at least that participants knew of) was a handful of family members at various weddings unhappy about the lack of representation in my films of other family members and siblings. Oh, and the one time a mother of the bride found out the bride requested boudoir photos behind her back, and it nearly caused a family split! Another story for another day.
But the fear always left as soon as I pressed the record button.
In the filmmaking industry, especially on a local level, wedding videographers are often viewed as sub-par. It’s assumed we’re doing it because we can’t yet land a job in the “real” industry, as if we can’t play with the big kids, so we’re settling for second (or third, or fourth) best. Okay, there may be small amounts of truth to that, sometimes. But filming weddings, for me, was like the boot camp of filmmaking. I learned so much in my time doing wedding films, like how to improvise when the plan goes out the window, or how to deal with difficult clients, or how to execute what you know you have to do when your hands are tied from every angle.
Creating wedding films was something I knew I could not do forever. Staying in that world too much longer would have necessitated weekly therapy sessions for my mental stability. But I wouldn’t trade those eight years for anything. Filming weddings supported my family, gave me confidence in my abilities, and frankly, made me a tougher person.
To think that my entire life shifted (for the better) from a chance encounter phone call with a stranger is ridiculous.
But it did.
Oh, and yes…I like money.