"Are you interested in pictures of that kid on his mother?" Chubby Face asks.
Whaddaya mean?
"Here, let's go talk to them," he says, short of dragging me over.

The mother's eyes go wide when Chubby Face tells her that a foreign journalist wants to photograph her. Okay, snap one picture, go back, sit down and listen to more drivel the Cool Guy is throwing at his lackeys.

"How do you focus?" Chubby Face asks.
Eh?

He takes the camera and tells the woman and her kid how to pose, how to stand, how to hold the water bottle. The kid isn't having any of it.

"Ichi, ni, san..."

Her phone rings. "Of course, we hafta wait. There's a line of people waiting, and it's sold out," she snaps at the person on the other end. Cuts the line.

"Ichi, ni, san..."

Chubby Face's phone rings. "Hello. Let me call you right back." Cuts the line. Then, he proceeds to give them directions on how to pose for the next ten minutes and takes a smattering of pics. He approaches me, asking how he can check them. I show him the pics.

"No good. Lemme take them again. How do you zoom?"

He crouches in a contorted form and snaps off a few more photos. The kid's somewhere beyond annoyed. The mother's no longer feigning politeness and wants this guy out of her hair. Even I'm starting to feel slightly embarrassed watching him with my crap 3 megapix digicam. This isn't the savannah, and we're not photographing elephants here. Hell, we're not even photographing small housepets.

Chubby Face's face scrunches up as he waltzes over. We check the pics. Rather, he checks them. "No good," he says. Nope, not at all.

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