“Do you mind if I sit here?” I asked an older, portly gentleman at lunchtime today, as I approached his table in the dining area downstairs in the St. Lawrence Market.
“Of course not,” he replied as he sat alone eating his own lunch, wearing an oversized jacket so not in keeping with the warm weather. He also wore a flat cap and bow tie, which made him look quite the character. Around his neck was slung a very professional-looking camera with a zoom lens, which—as my colleague joined me with her own food—he rested on the table right in front of us.
During the conversation with my friend, I could see him move the camera ever so slightly in our direction, one hand resting to the side, his finger hovering within reach of the shutter button. I contemplated asking if he intended to take our picture without our consent, but I decided to say nothing and instead simply kept an ear pricked for the sound of the shutter, should he choose to use it.
I didn’t hear the shutter mechanism operate at any point during our meal, but I’m convinced he either wanted to snap a shot of us both or that he already had and the camera was so quiet we just never heard it. In any case, he seemed intent on keeping the lens focused on us as we chatted.
After ten minutes or so, he got up and walked away. Shortly after that, however, when it was our turn to leave, I saw him sitting at another table with a group of three or four people sitting in front of him. Sure enough, the camera was resting on the table, pointed in their direction.
I wonder how many other lunchtime diners at the Market are aware of the fact that it’s very possible they may soon be immortalized in a gallery somewhere, or in The Secret Photographer’s collection at home?