Revis Edgewater: Father, husband, author. Model?
A few days ago I saw a new person at work. I asked who it was and they told me it was someone from the corporate safety team. Ok, sure. Don’t know why anyone like that would need to be in with the rest of us at 4 a.m., but if they say so. I go about my business and do my normal routine until an hour or so later, when my supervisor walks up to me and tells me that they want to take pictures of me working.
Apparently they’re putting together a new safety package for people to go over during orientation and they were there to take pictures of employees working. One picture of them doing things the correct way, and another where they’re doing things the incorrect way.
I told him that I don’t care if they take my picture, but I reminded him that I was on a timer. What I do needs to be completed by certain times or we get in trouble. As long as they don’t slow me down to the point where I’m running behind, I don’t care that they take pictures of me working. He says, “Great,” and hands me a waiver that I have to sign that allows them to take my picture. I shake my head and wonder what i gotten myself into.
The answer to that question is that I got myself into a photo shoot. They didn’t take pictures of me working. They took picture of me in poses that they put me into. I had to stand there for ten minutes while the guy and his “photographer” (aka his assistant who took the pictures on his phone) moved my hand around to try to find the perfect position for my hand to be in to present the right and wrong way to hold the handle of a pallet jack. No, I’m not making that up.
Eventually, it got to the point that I had to tell them that I needed to get moving or I was going to be late with my work. They told me that they had what they needed and showed me the picture before they moved on to the next thing. It wasn’t even a picture of me. It was just a picture of my hand on the pallet jack handle.
So, I’m not a regular model. I’m a hand model.