Page 41 of The Love Haters

No argument there.

I knew Cole was supposed to be doing this project. But Cole wasn’t coming. Was that my fault? That was between Cole and the Coast Guard.

Yes. My showing up at the air station would be weird for Hutch.

But not even a tiny fraction of how weird it would be for me.

Without a doubt, this was the first time in my career I’d start a project knowing that the subject had already—slowly, over a long period of time—had his hands all over a part of my body that had been, shall we say,devoid of gentleman callersfor far too long.

I mean, if there was anybody to pity in this situation… it was me.

I SPENT THEweekend staunching the flow of my dread with overpreparation.

My shipped equipment arrived on Saturday—as did my lost luggage.

Apparently, all I needed to restore my equilibrium was my Sony FX6 camera, my beat-up shoulder rig, and my sturdiest tripod from the equipment room back at the office.

Plus, my trusty black underwear.

I unpacked it all like I was reuniting with lost pieces of myself.

A higher-budget production would have a separate director of photography and production editor, but I’d be doing most things myself. To be honest, I enjoyed doing both. It was part of the storytelling process for me: capturing the moments, and then, later, hunting back to find the best clips to tell the story.

This promo project was different from others I’d worked on, though.

Most of the projects I got were the usual: a CEO at his desk, in a suit, looking calm and important and in charge, talking about some product or service his company had paid ours to highlight. Still shots on tripods, a simple script, and a spokesperson struggling to make it sound natural—later scored with vaguely uplifting, very on-the-nose, royalty-free background songs with titles like “Happy and Trustworthy.”

But the US Coast Guard was different.

They wanted theunusual. They wanted a video that would stand out, and get attention, and captivate. “This is arecruitingvideo,” Cole had explained, “for a grueling, exhausting, death-defying job.”

“That’s a tough sell.”

“Exactly,” Cole said. “That’s where you come in. Explain the unexplainable. Describe the indescribable. Show them what they can’t see.”

Was this a pep talk?

I wrote down,Make it look exciting.

But Cole had leaned over the notepad and then jabbed at the paper with his finger. “No. You don’t need to ‘make it look exciting.’ Itisexciting. Your job is to capture that excitement.”

“Got it,” I said.

“It’s a kick-ass job,” Cole concluded. “And it needs a kick-ass video.”

So… my job for this assignment was to filmeverythingand find the moments that would capture the story. That’s why I would stay so long. A full-immersion deep dive into the job of a rescue swimmer—in hopes that I could surface with genuine treasure.

MONDAY MORNING, ASI got dressed for my first day at the air station in my black-on-black everything, I felt many feelings—including (1) excitement to get started; (2) a full-body tension I’ve now dubbedmoderate fear of helicopters; and (3) dread.

I dreaded the moment when Hutch would realize everything. But it wasn’t just Hutch I was dreading.

I was also intimidated by… the military. I’d been trying to study all the names and ranks, but I couldn’t keep anything straight. It seemed likely I would say, or do, one wrong thing after another. I couldn’t even remember the written rules I knew of—not even counting the unwritten ones I didn’t. Would I forget to salute? Sit when I should be standing? Make eye contact with the wrong rank of eyes?

Is anticipatory humiliation a real thing?

Scratch that question.

Yes, it is. My bathing suit could vouch.

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