At JC Raulston Arboretum, a pair of gold star glasses slid off the prop table and skittered into the grass. Someone laughed, scooped them up, and stuck them on over regular glasses like they were made for it. The line for the photo booth kept curling along the edge of the Great Lawn, right past a patch of clover that bees seemed to like more than we did.
It was May 17, bright and a little breezy. Raleigh, NC felt wide open in that kind of light. The strips came out warm into waiting hands, the little Annual LifePlan Group Picnic logo tucked in the corner with the date. People kept holding theirs up to the sun like it would dry faster, though there was nothing to dry.
The Booth Line Started Early
Ashley straightened the backdrop between groups, pulling it tight so it didn’t bubble in the wind. She kept a calm smile while her hands moved fast. I watched her guide a team of four who were trying to squeeze in. One guy, Tony, angled his shoulder in and then backed out, then in again, trying not to knock the potted fern. We all learned to tilt our heads just a little so no one’s forehead got chopped off.
“Wait, scoot left. It’s cutting off your head.”
Kendall showed up with a foam finger and held it the wrong way first, logo facing the backdrop. He realized at the two-count and flipped it, too hard, and it popped him in the ear. The strip caught him mid-winced smile. He looked at it and said he was coming back for a do-over. He did. Twice.
A woman in a straw hat tried to wrangle six coworkers into one frame, and everyone suddenly had an opinion on who should go where. Ashley tapped the screen to start the countdown again. People leaned, squished, grinned. On the second shot, the straw hat tipped forward and covered half her face. We all cracked up. They came back an hour later, same crew, no hat this time.
A Little Wind, A Lot of Hands
Midday, a gust took a fresh strip right out of someone’s fingers. It flipped once, slid across the grass, and stopped against a paper plate with mustard on it. When we found it, there was a thumbprint of Dijon on the corner, just barely brushing the Annual LifePlan Group Picnic logo. The guy stared at it like it might be ruined, then shrugged. He wiped it with the edge of a napkin and said it gave the photo “character.” He snapped a second round just in case.
Ashley kept the spare batteries tucked under the tablecloth. Every now and then she knelt, checked a blinking light, nodded, and then waved the next group in. No one asked how anything worked. They just smiled at the printer like it was a small miracle each time it hummed awake.
One More Round of Photos
After lunch, the same faces drifted back. The star glasses returned. The foam finger returned. People swapped spots, tried a serious look, failed at it, tried again. Drew kept blinking at the wrong moment. He started closing his eyes at two and opening them on one. It sort of worked. In the strip, his eyes were a little too wide, like he had just remembered something important.
Someone tucked their strip into a badge holder with a bent corner. Another wedged theirs behind their phone case. I saw two coworkers balance theirs on a water bottle to take a photo of the photo, like proof of proof. The line thinned and filled in again, steady as shade drifting across the lawn.
I stood by the prop table at the end and felt the grass cool down underfoot. Two interns tried to recreate a morning shot and could not remember who stood where. They argued about it for a beat, laughed, then switched sides without deciding anything. The countdown started anyway. They leaned in, foreheads almost touching, and the strip slid out while they were still fixing their hair.
