I had an opportunity to crash a foo foo invitation only wine tasting last week. I was walking around Mt. Vernon Place, taking pictures of the First Thursday festivities, when I ran into a group of friends. They were on their way to a trade wine tasting in the Walters Art Museum and invited me to come along. I was dressed on grass stained jeans, a ratty t-shirt, and old shoes that had holes in both soles. I looked up and told them that there was no way I was going to get into that event dressed the way I was. They said that was nonsense and insisted that I come along.

Somehow, I got passed the security guard at the front door. My friends had double talked him and he reluctantly let me pass. Once I was inside I couldn’t have felt more out of place. Nearly everyone was in a suit and tie. Dozens of tuxedoed caterers were serving wine and northern Italian cuisine in the shadows of the Neoclassical renaissance sculptures. A singer had been hired to stand in the corner and Sinatra tunes. My friends kept asking me what I wanted to eat or drink and I kept declining, convinced that the second I went for some food or drink a security guard was going to grab me by the neck and throw me out the front door.

As I stood nervously within my group, a woman came up to me and asked who I was shooting for. I had almost completely forgotten about the camera I had strapped around my neck and the man purse case over my shoulder. I froze and didn’t know how to respond. One of my cohorts came to the rescue and very nonchalantly told her I was from the Beverage Journal. Her eyes to lit up and she started to ramble on about who she was and what company she represented and asked if I would like to take a picture of her and her partners. “Um... sure” I responded.

So this is how I had succeeded in crashing the party, everyone assumed that I was a professional photographer. They excused the hobo clothes on my back and had attributed my ratty attire to my inherent “artiness.”

Ha! Very cool. I was imbedded. No one was going to throw me out now.

I spent the next three hours drinking free wine, eating free food and taking the occasional obligatory photograph so as to keep up the jig. It’s too bad I didn’t have a flash on me, none of the posed shots turned out very well.

Later in the night, I ran into a guy at the Pub who had attended the wine tasting. He told me he had seen me earlier. I explained to him that I had actually crashed the event. To which he responded, “Good! That thing needed to be crashed. Pretentious fucks. I hope you got some good shots.”

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