In the spring of my senior year at Harvard, I was awarded the contract to make passport photos for any of my fellow Quincy House residents who needed them. By "awarded the contract" I mean that the assistant to the House Master was a friend of mine who knew I knew my way around a darkroom (that may have come out wrong…), and so she gave the project to me. This is the story of a brief encounter with one of my customers — and what it still means to me 40 years later.
Here’s a slight variation on a classic anecdote about pricing: Guy takes his Harley to the shop. Says it’s not sounding right. Doesn’t sound like a Harley should sound. Mechanic says she can fix it. She starts the engine and listens. She looks up and down the length of the bike for a few moments […]