How a Lens Hood Restored My Faith in Mankind

<p>This is a true story.</p>

<p>I was damp as a sponge waiting in the dimly lit bus stop for my morning commute. The chilled rain, blasted sideways by strong lake front winds, penetrated the bus stop enclosure offering little shelter. Thoughts of retreating back home for a warm, dry bath robe, slippers and second cup of hot coffee fizzled as the #146 express bus pulled up to take me to work. Being early on the bus route, I am usually lucky to grab a window seat during the five mile journey to downtown Chicago. Soon the bus, a large double-sized behemoth, was filled completely with commuters, each trying to secure a few square inches of territory in the standing room only isle. Dampness filled the air as soggy coats, dripping umbrellas and fogged glasses jostled together as the bus became tightly packed. I felt lucky to have a seat at all.</p>

<p>Most commuters don't talk during the trip. Many remain stone faced, with a far away look or bury their heads in a book or electronic device. Today's weather situation added a thin layer of grumpiness to the mix. With nary a person to meet my gaze or share a chat, I too, get otherwise engaged. I like to look out the window and observe life passing by and take my camera out for a few snapshots if something catches my eye. I'll call it my “commuter series” to lend some weight to the process, but really it's nothing more than snap shooting out of the window to pass the time. With the poor weather, I was hopeful there might be something interesting to point my lens toward.</p>

<p>Using my street camera, a Sony NEX 6 with Sigma 60mm f/2.8 lens, I proceeded in my snap shooting reverie via a patch of window I had cleared of fog with a paper napkin secured from my lunch bag. The lens is a dandy and low cost to boot but the supplied lens hood is a somewhat flimsy, plastic affair that does the basic job but inspires no admiration. It bayonets a quarter turn onto the front of the lens and feels rather secure. I don't use lens caps but leave the hood on full-time. Other than this I have never given it much thought.</p><div></div>

<p>I'm always astonished how time fly’s when I'm shooting out of the window. I get really absorbed in it. With the lens, and hood, firmly against the glass I clicked many frames. Today, of all days, about half way to work, I was shooting a lady in the bus stop waiting for the next bus since mine was filled to the brim. During that shot, the lens hood popped off. It must have been working itself loose from the vibrations of the bus window.</p>

<p>Down it went to the floor and proceed to roll quickly backward as the bus suddenly lurched forward, as if on cue. One could hear the thing rolling, rolling under the seats. The timing was both impeccable and unfortunate. I was already in tight quarters in my seat with a lovely, but rather large-sized, older woman seated next to me. The entire bus was bursting it seams with people. In my mind, I simply figured it was a lost cause and, in a flash of sour grapes, had decided it was just as well and I would simply buy a nice metal screw in hood to replace it. While mildly annoyed, it was no great loss. </p><div></div>

<p>Then something strange happened. Apparently, the well dressed gentleman standing tall next to my seat mate had lifted his eyes from his phone long enough to see the whole lens hood episode transpire. At once he began to bend behind my seat to look on the floor, “ I heard it roll” he said aloud. It seems others had heard it too because in a moment, each row of seated and standing passengers were bending this way and that in search of the hood. Looking rearward, I observed heads bobbing up and down in a wave-like fashion as if the retrieval of that bit of round plastic was of vital importance.</p>

<p>I was red-faced with embarrassment as now 12-15 kind souls had joined the search, each commenting if they saw it or heard it and where it might have landed. The disconnected faces were gone and it seemed, for the life of me, as if they were all enjoying the momentary diversion. A call came out from a young student standing near the back “I see it”, she gleefully exclaimed. And with a limberness reserved for the young, she had crouched down on one leg and snagged the hood with the toe of her rain boot. “Got it!” She cried out. There was an actual cheer that rose from the group as smiles replaced the stone faces.</p>

<p>I stammered my thanks repeatedly to everyone as the hood was handed up through the ranks. I got the feeling that most thought I was an out-of-town tourist, snapping mindlessly out the window, and perhaps felt they were helping a visitor to the city. There was friendly banter the rest of the way to my stop where I gave a wave, nod and smile to the remaining group. It sounds weird but there was a unity between us.</p>

<p>What I learned was this. Most people are good. They will help you, even without asking. Indeed they will go to extraordinary lengths to do so in less than desirable conditions. The weary mask of the commuter is just that, a mask. Kind hearts and kindred spirits lie just underneath. I stepped on that bus expecting another boring commute and I stepped off with a renewed sense of faith in my fellow man.</p>

<p>Later that night, as I thought more about it, I went on-line and ordered that screw-in metal lens hood.</p>

<p>Thanks for reading!</p>

<p>I have always depended on the strangeness of kindness.</p>

<p>Doesn't surprise me about Chicago, though. I'd need both hands to count the number of times I was surprised as a visitor by how helpful folks were when I traveled there on business during the late 1980s-'90s. There was the city bus driver who told me which stop to wait at next - then a few moments later, he pulled the bus over to the curb and hollered out the window to correct his directions so I'd be sure to wait on the opposite corner for my transfer. There was the subway cop downtown who suggested a late night blues club within reach of the transit system, including a return trip to my hotel. And the various folks who'd see me peering at a map and offer to help me find my way around town.</p>

<p>And here in Fort Worth, the many kindnesses shown my disabled mom, who is very independent despite needing a wheelchair to get around. A few weeks ago mom bought more bedding and pillows than she could carry on her wheelchair, so one of the employees put the items in his vehicle and slowly followed her home to deliver the stuff to her door. His name was Jonathan, at the Dollar General on the west side store off Camp Bowie - thanks, Jonathan!</p>

 

<p>Louis, I hope you're a writer by profession. That was as well-written a story as I've ever read on photo.net, and enlightening. You're capable of telling a story, well, in two mediums. That's a rare gift. Thank you for sharing your tale.</p>

<p>Patrick is right. It's a great story, well told. Ironically, even if nothing else had happened, the shot would have been worth it...</p>

<p>A beautiful story and a nice way to start a weekend morning. </p>

I always thought a picture was worth a thousand words. Not the other way round.

<p>Great story, and an interesting photo to go with it. I often think of the human race as a pretty sad species--google 'genocide'--but it's really a LOT more complex.</p>

<p>Nice.<br>

The "kindness of strangers" may not be what it once was, if it ever was, but it is still there.</p>

<p>In the early 1970s I spent a lot of time in Manhattan, New York getting on and off subways and buses with lots of camera equipment. This included carrying a 500mm lens, not in a case, when I was going from East 42nd Street to Yankee Stadium and back. I never once had any hassle with any person. So much for the perils of the big, bad city. You never know. Great story and I like the photo a lot.</p>

<p>A great story and exceptionally well told. <br>

Reading the internet one often encounters posts which may cause one to despair about the human condition. Particularly painful to me are those which demonstrate the rapidly deteriorating ability to communicate in our native language. This post gives me hope that all is not lost.</p>

<blockquote>

<p>So much for the perils of the big, bad city.</p>

</blockquote>

<p>I've found myself in odd and remote places, far from the crowd, and never had a bit of trouble.<br>

Possibly because I was seen as a crazy person to be carrying all that camera equipment, and most people want to avoid crazy persons. :|</p>

<p>Long ago I discovered that if you are carrying one normal camera, people will comment and talk to you about it. Three or more cameras? They avoid eye contact.</p>

Nice story. Thank you! You describe

very well what it's like to be on a

crowded bus when it's raining. Oddly

cozy in one way, tortuous in another.

<p>Louis -- Wonderful story and well written! I missed this gem of yours until I noticed you put up a link on FB. Glad you did!</p>

A wonderful story and photo. With a fixed focal length lens and jammed in a seat with the camera pressed against the window glass you still achieved a brilliantly composed photo.