The scene: Laguna Seca Raceway Park, 1993 or so. Me in jeans and a polo shirt, a khaki Domke photographer's vest, and a flourescent yellow bib that said "PHOTO" on the front and back. There's a Canon EOS 1N with a rented 600mm f/4 bazooka on it slung over one shoulder (the lens wouldn't fit in my gear case: I checked it in my luggage, wrapped in blue jeans and sweatshirts!), The aforementioned gear case and a big fat Slik monopod in my hands. My editor and I are walking to the gate. Press shooters get good parking, but it's the same good parking as race fans who pay extra. As we wend our way through the infield parking area toward the entry, a gentleman steps up alongside me. From here I will paraphrase:
HIM: "What's that?"
ME: "What's what?"
HIM: "This big thing." (points to 600mm lens, paintyed Canon Bazooka Cream-White)
ME: "It's a lens."
HIM: "You with TV?"
ME: "No, it''s a camera lens...a picture camera."
HIM: "Where's the camera?"
ME: "Here." (me, pointing to the rather enormous EOS1N, which is dwarfed by the utterly ginormous lens)
HIM: "That's a camera?"
ME: "Yep. Big one."
HIM: "Yeah."
Pause. Pause. Pause. Wait for it.
HIM: "You a photographer?"
Fade to black...