New Camera Fun

I veering away from Flash Fiction Friday this week and focusing on personal stuff, which is what I originally intended this blog to be in the first place, but things evolve.

Last autumn, my trusty Penxtax K30 DSLR became problematic when I noticed photos occasionally would turn out dark despite setting the exposures correctly. Hmmm, I wondered. I am fairly knowledgeable with camera stuff, so I figured I adjusted some other setting and forgot to reset it. Unable to locate anything unusual, I set the camera aside until next use. Well, with the next use each frame grew gradually darker until the only thing my camera produced was completely black images. I combed the owner's manual, scoured the internet, even enlisting the assistance of other photographers. Nada.

Next, I located a local camera repair shop, Camera Care. Most repair places, including Camera Care, generally work on Nikon and Canon brands. Pentax poses a bit of a challenge simply because they aren't as popular, but the guy was up to the challenge.

Upon picking up my repaired camera, it seemed to be working properly. The exposures weren't dark abysses on the LCD screen. I thought it was fixed until I switched to shutter priority mode to shoot some eagles. The camera was now overexposing images; opposite from the original problem.

Camera Care felt it must need a factory calibration, and he was unable to make that adjustment; I would have to send it in to Pentax for that. As it turned out, Pentax wanted more money than the camera was worth to diagnose and repair the unit. Therefore, I decided it was time to order a brand new camera (that's the part were all you camera savvy people say 'ooooooo!'). I decided on the Pentax KP model. It's a more expensive model than some of their other entry level cameras, but I feel like my skills were worthy of it. Plus, I was worried if I purchased the current model equivalent to my K30, I may encounter the same issues down the road.

I would like to add that I was happy with the service I received from Camera Care. The owner was helpful and friendly and offer to work with me on cost if I decided to send off my camera to Pentax. It seemed there was more than one issue going on, making diagnosis difficult to pinpoint. I would recommend this business for your camera repair needs.

Back to the new Pentax KP. If you're a photography nerd, you understand the thrill of lifting that sparkly new camera from it's neatly packed box and unwrapping the bubble wrap, and being the first person outside the manufacturing facility to handle such a marvelous invention. Inhaling a whiff of that new gizmo metallic smell tickles your senses to the core. It's like striking gold, except way easier cause the UPS guy/gal delivers it directly to your doorstep.

Enough of the nitty-gritty, here are a few photos from the inaugural photo session at the river. I was also experimenting with my new Pentax 55-300 zoom lens. The little house finch makes me smile and the grass widows are a sure sign of spring. The ducks were wading in this little pool on large boulders overlooking the Spokane River. If you look close, you can see the river in the background. They were situated in bright sunlight which is why the images aren't as clear as the others. Plus, I'm still familiarizing myself with my new camera. (I also condense the file sizes for internet upload/viewing and watermarked them because there are stupid www pirates out there who steal photographs.)

I'm excited to have a working "big" camera again, and look forward to photographing all the springtime buzz like birds and flowers. I'm sure I'll get some photos of my cute little kid, eventually.

Copyright 2018 Jennifer E. Miller

Flash Fiction Friday: The Puddle

Hello, readers. Sometimes story ideas fester as I figure out how to lay them out. Once in a while I'm struck with an idea and just pour it out on the computer screen. That's what happened this week.

The Puddle

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

It was Saturday and raining. I decided to meet my girlfriends for coffee at the corner cafe on the old fashioned neighborhood's lamppost-lined sidewalk. My feet get wet as I dodge puddles. I had hastily thrown on a pair of those ballerina flats and raindrops splatter onto my shoes from passersby. I was so concerned over keeping my feet comfortable, I didn't see the large puddle ahead of me. I step right into it and disappear; sucked below the surface. 

Disoriented at first, I hold my breath and swim around the mysterious abyss below the puddle. It's narrow and dark and deep and I don't wish to know how deep. I feel a jagged rock wall along the sides but fear it thins as the depth increases, ending somewhere.

Paddling to the top, my heart plummets. A clear cap of glass like glacier ice separates me from the world I was meant to exist in. Pressing my palms and face against the invisible barrier, I exhale a few bubbles and watch the scene above.

I must've vanished from the sidewalk quickly. I observe the a growing crowd at the puddle; their voices muffled. 

"What happened to her?" 

"Who?"

"The woman walking in front of me. She disappeared into this puddle."

"Another wonky street magician's trick, probably. World is full of those people who can't find anything better to do with their time."

"No. No, she sank."

A hand reaches into the puddle, clawing for answers. I grab for it, but am blocked by the glass shield.

The woman sighs. "I hit the bottom."

"Of course you did, it's a three inch deep puddle. Dirty, I might add."

Other witnesses reach in, knocking the pavement, like they are trying to find a trap door. The sound reverberates and stabs my eardrums. 

"Ow," I say. 

I accidentally inhale water when I speak and I panic, imaging my lungs drowning before this batch of strangers who can't even see my struggle. But it doesn't happen. Instead, I breathe again and easily. The water isn't water; can't be water. Some liquid substance that still allows for regular breaths. It swirls through my windpipe and settles in my veins and capillaries. I hadn't realize until that moment that the liquid wasn't cold like a puddle; it was comfortable, nearly body temperature. 

The confused onlookers above disperse, and I'm left to watch footsteps pass by, dodging my puddle. Swimming to one end, I can see from an angle, and the cafe squeezes into view. I watch patrons enter empty-handed, while others exit with their coffee. One of my girlfriend walks in, then soon the other. Just as I disappeared into the puddle, they disappear into the cafe. I imagine them excitedly greeting each other as they wait...for me. But I don't arrive. Do they worry? Try to call? How long do they wait? How long must I wait?

I worry about how long I am destine to be trapped here in this aquatic world. Deary raindrops plop continuously, tapping my glass roof. The morning passes into the afternoon, which eventually passes the wand to the evening; the day's last relay member. The final sliver of sunlight is pinched out. I curl up into a buoyant ball, rest on a fairly flat place on the rock wall, and close my eyes. 

After the right amount of time lapses, the sunlight reappears. It takes me a moment to find my composure and surroundings. Too early yet for pedestrians, a little songbird bathes in my puddle. His tiny talons tap gently on the barrier. He dips his head and wiggles his rump, flaps his wings, delighting in his morning rinse. I enjoy his happiness in this simple activity. All too soon, he leaves. I'm left alone and suddenly envious of my feathered friend who the freedom to roam the world we both were made for.

The same pattern of walkers commute past my puddle, dodging it entirely. Would another splash through? I could use the company. 

It is beginning to feel hot as the midday sun strikes its rays directly above. The puddle warms quickly and I feel a wave of panic rush over me. The ice barrier cracks, prompting me to swim up to investigate. The shallow pool of water above is gone; the sun must have evaporated it. Another crack startles me and my eardrums. The crackling continues and I bring my hands over my ears, close my eyes, and clench my teeth. It sounds like the fat opera lady hitting the right note, and another, slowly fracturing the delicate glass. Finally it pops, and shatters completely. Gravity inverts it pull on me, yanking me towards the sidewalk. I emerge in the now dry pothole spitting up liquid goo, gasping for air. I welcome oxygen as it rushes into my lungs bringing a familiar but strange sensation.

"Did you trip over that blasted thing?" a woman asks.

I look around for the source, but she misinterprets my noggin swinging about as a head shake for "no."

"You didn't trip? Goodness what happened? And why are you all wet."

She kneels down beside me to pat my back. I finally get to look at her face, and she at mine. We both freeze.

"I'm not crazy," she says.

I try to reply but my throat is pruney and raw from extended liquid exposure. A small grunt is all I manage.

"You're that woman from yesterday who fell through the puddle."

I don't know what to say, lest she thinks I'm crazy. 

"That was quite some magic trick."

If only that were the truth. 

Copyright 2018 Jennifer E. Miller

Flash Fiction Friday: The Lady Thief

Photo by Jennifer E. Miller

The Lady Thief

by,

Jennifer E. Miller

Recently, I saw a question on social media as follows:

How Smart Are You?
A lady walks into a store and steals a $100 bill from the register without the owner's knowledge. She comes back 5 minutes later and buys $70 worth of goods with the $100 bill. The owner givers her $30 in change. How much did the owner lose?
A. $30
B. $70
C. $100
D. $130
E. $170
F. $200

There were all sorts of answers and arguments towards which is the correct answer. "$100 is $100;" "It depends on the profit margin of the goods;" "$70 plus the cost of the goods." Of course, my creative analysis presents a different spin to answer the question of "How smart are you?"

For one thing: how did the lady thief go unnoticed? The sentence says she simply walks in, which would mean the store is already open for business. In other words, no breaking and entering. It also says "without the owner's knowledge" which would lead us to believe this is a mom-and-pop operation because most chains don't have owners working in the stores. Mom-and-pop stores typically have those little bells that ringy-ding-ding when the door is opened. Unless, the lady somehow outsmarted the bells' sound, I find it unlikely she would be unnoticed and/or not greeted in the first place.

Next problem: how did she physically take the money? Let's stay she premeditated her whole plan. She is hunkered down in the nearby bushes peeking into the store windows with binoculars. She waits until the owner goes to the back room (or somewhere away from the counter) and casually strolls in, muffling the mom-and-pop bells. If the $100 was in the cash register, how did she open it? I imagine that even though this may be a small-town operation, store owners are aware of the potential for theft and have secure storage devices to store their cash. The register would need a key, code, or other means of opening it. She's a former employee with a code that hasn't been updated? Okay. Maybe.

This brings me to another chin-rubbing question: what mom-and-pop store keeps a $100 bill in the cash register? Anyone who has worked retail or even manned a garage sale, knows that you need small bills for change. Lots of them. Perhaps it is the end of the day and the owner is letting it sit in the register until he places it in the safe or bank deposit bag. If it's the beginning of the day, a customer must've paid with it prior to lady thief's arrival. How did I come to the presumption that the theft happened at the beginning or end of the day? Remember, lady thief went unnoticed. There are no witnesses per the described scenario and she returns to the store, so it's easy to come to the conclusion that she chose a non-busy time to rip off the store owner.

All right, the stars align for lady thief and she somehow enters completely unnoticed, opens the cash register, and steals the $100 bill. The second sentence of the scenario says she returns in five minutes to buy $70 worth of goods. Hmmm. Based on criminal behavior patterns, I'd doubt our thief would use the money for purchasing of store goods. Criminals steal cash for drugs. But lets say she was down-and-out on her luck. Perhaps she got laid off, food stamps allotment got cut, simply got sick and was unable to work for a few days, etc. Why didn't she just snatch the goods from the shelf and bolt? It's sorta risky to show your face in the same place a short time later. She would be on surveillance twice.

Hey, that brings up another question: if security cameras were in use, this gal is in t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

Anyway moving on with the scenario. The owner next gives her $30 in change for the items she "purchases." Here is the large bill problem again. How many $100 bills do mom-and-pop operations get? I'm going to venture not too many because enough small businesses don't accept them to begin with. My point is, having a $100 bill in the cash register would be a rarity, and wouldn't the owner notice it's missing when he retrieves her change? I would say, yes, he would. He would then become suspicious, wondering what happened to his original $100 bill when this woman pays for her items with one. He would mentally jot down her physical description and/or take note of her license plate number. Seriously, though, in a small town with a store that uses an unsecured cash register, he would probably already know who she was.

That wraps up the scenario analysis and brings us to the final sentence: how much did the owner lose?

Answer G: The owner would actually make a profit because he could identify the lady thief with surveillance cameras, license plate, or personal recognition. She would get charged with theft, then the owner sues for losses, damages, and attorney fees caused by his absence due to the subpoena to testify at her trial.

But I don't think small-town folk get too excited about those sort of things, so I will go with

Answer H: The owner, living and operating a business in a red state, would lose a bullet.



Copyright 2018 Jennifer E. Miller