No, really, what happens when a store that used to offer a cheaper, overnight film service in addition to a One Hour film service does away with their send away option?

I will tell you.

Processing volumes go up in the One Hour service.

However, some Customers who are averse to the idea of One Hour processing go elsewhere.

But, not enough of them do.

The result: expect delays. Expect a borderline psychotic, overworked photo-processing guru.

Corporate mindset: The store still wins because an increased volume of One Hour, where the store's profit margin is higher, and a total focus on improving this service will generate more longterm customers and more profit.

(Translation of that last bit: Work harder, photoslave! The people want their film! *whip cracks*)

Photolab Counterjockey(i.e. me) mindset: Please God, make my death quick and painless.

Okay, so for an opening disclaimer, as we all should know, I see nothing wrong with the female body. Far from it. But after recent events, we are adding a Number 9 to the One Hour Photo list of do's and don'ts...

9) We have to see your photos as we print them. That is how we adjust the lighting and framing, and how we make sure we do NOT print you frames that came out blank or are covered entirely by your accidental stray fingertip covering the camera lens. So, IF YOU WOULDN'T WANT YOUR MOM TO SEE IT, CHANCES ARE WE DON'T WANT TO SEE IT EITHER. Also, since you can SEE where we print your pictures as you drop them off, consider that whatever -we- have to see, anyone else passing by could potentially see too.

A couple days ago a young woman who was wearing, honestly, too much makeup, dropped off seven rolls of film to be developed. I was able to tell her that they'd be more than an hour as she left them and she smiled and said okay, and so, I happily went about feeding her rolls of negatives through the film developer with the blissful knowledge that I would have adequate time to complete them without her breathing down my neck.

And then I got to actually putting them through the photo processor. About half of ONE of these seven rolls was family pictures. The others honestly looked like she was trying to pose for amateur porno mags or porno sites online. There were pictures of her in various scandalous outfits or lingerie, posing provocatively on a bed with the mattress stripped of all bedclothes and the room behind her bare except for a framed piece of art of an American flag in the background. If I had to venture a guess, well, it just doesn't seem like the usual naked shot for boyfriend fare.

Anyway, despite the tone, most were clothed shots, which we can print. A few were bare-breasted shots, which were a more discretionary matter and I consulted with my superior about them due or our sexually suggestive nudity clause in our inappropriate to develop policy. That done, I'm going along sending through screen after screen of this Playboy-wannabe stuff. And then we come to the last roll. In almost a third of it she's wearing no underwear and showing off things that noooobody not in intimate acquaintance with her needs to be seeing. It goes without saying I didn't print them. But I was like "WHAT THE HELL?" and pounding the PASS key that bypasses a frame like crazy trying to get them off my screen before some soccer mom and her brood looked over and saw them. Eheh. More of the fun of One Hour Photo.

*smirks* So, I guess even just by virtue of my job description I can remove the question mark after the "Voyeur" on my icon.

In the aftermath of what one might affectionately call the Ashfield Near-Apocalypse (or at least, one might if one was less than sane), there was One Hour Photo.

And One Hour Photo was evil. But evil pays the bills sometimes. At least I'm through with living in haunted apartments. (I knew that rent was too cheap!)

For those of you who feel compelled to use the service known as One Hour Photo, my first response to you is "Don't. Please don't."

But for those of you who still feel it absolutely necessary, here are a few things you need to remember.

1) Yes, your One Hour Photo takes less than one hour... UNLESS any of the following happen: the machine jams, the water for the chemical mix runs out, the paper runs out, you want the non-standard finish paper, double set prints and a CD with your processing, or you have Advanced Processing System film (cartridge type) instead of regular 35mm. That is why when I tell you your film will be ready in an hour it will damn well be ready in an hour. I will not tell you less. I will tell you it is done if it is done, and you are welcome to check back and see, but I will not tell you less than an hour before processing your order. Because the machine is evil.

2) One Hour Photo has a misleading name. I'm sorry, it's true, and there's nothing I can do about it. The "One Hour" is based on a single set of prints from a standard 24-27 exposure roll of 35mm film (and does not account for encountering many of the problems mentioned previously). If you are leaving many rolls of film (for example, anything more than two), PLEASE, do NOT bother checking back in an hour. Your film will not be done. Especially if they are all underwater disposable cameras on which the seal must be cracked before the roll of film can be extracted.

3) Do NOT leave your camera chip in an envelope for one hour digital processing and expect us to divine what you want printed from it. Digital processing is self-service. You choose it, you edit it, we just print it out when you're done.

4) Reprints from negatives are not a one hour service, they are a same-day service. Meaning as long as you've filled out your order inteligibly, your reprints will be ready by the time we close the one hour that day. You can check back. You can request to be called when they are completed. But it is NOT, and never WILL be, a guaranteed One Hour service. You will not get a discount for them being "late."

5) If you're not coming back that day for your photos, it would be courteous to let the lab staff know that it is not a rush order so that they can take care of those who will be waiting around first.

6) If you turn in a blank roll of film thinking it is one you took pictures on, you will not be charged anything for it, but if you then bring back in the right roll of film and put it in for processing, yes, it will still be an hour. I can't bend the laws of time and space for you.

7) Do not drop your One Hour processing order down the slot meant for send out film. It will not be seen and processed in a timely fashion. Hand it to one of the photo lab staff or drop it in the counter basket marked for one hour. If you drop your film in the wrong place no one but you is to blame when it is not ready in an hour from that time.

8) And last, but certainly not least, do NOT lick the envelopes. They are self-sticking.

Upon request the friendslist of this journal has been edited down.

So, this journal may in future be the home to fanfic, if there is inclination for it, but for the moment the journal is closed, it's owner no longer a participant in active Silent Hill roleplay online. Thank you to those who looked in on this place.

I have long since stopped screaming.

No one answers.

Everyone seems to have been pulled into this. Yet in many ways, I'm
alone in this insanity. We all are. And I think I would rather be
truly alone in it. Everyone I run into gets killed. If it were only
me, it wouldn't be so bad... how many people have I watched die now?

I lean against the wall, looking at the chains. Is there some way I
could have done this, myself? Post-hypnotic suggestion? I keep having
this sense that someone else is here, but no one is. Not a real
person, anyway.

Stepping through the hole is like stepping through the looking glass
into Wonderland... but more sinister, more deadly. Nothing is
right, there. Some kind of warped reality. I want to think it's a
dream, but deep down I know it isn't. I don't have the luxury of
Cynthia's faith.

I don't want to go back there, to that strange world, and yet I have
no choice but to see where this all leads. I didn't ask for this, but
I'm trapped now. One option. One choice. Well, except to curl up and
wait to die.

There is no food. Not that I want it. The water may go off soon, too.
It's so stuffy. Oppressive. Hard to draw a breath. If the fan in my bedroom
dies too... No, don't think about it.

I burn the candles. It's the only thing that makes it a little
better, and cures the headaches. If I had enough, I would keep them
lit in every room. Briefly, I hold my hands close to the flame.

I try to keep rational. There has to be an explanation for all of
this, a reason behind it. The one I'm beginning to piece out, however,
makes little more sense to me than the situation. Besides, it's hard
to even believe in my own sanity when all these insane things are
happening.

Joseph must have felt this way, too. Didn't he say as much? Joseph
Schreiber... he was a journalist, and I take photographs. Ironic, in a
way. Why is he sending me messages, and from where?

My head aches.

I light another candle and place it nearby.

Why is it only me that can sense them? Why is it me they attack?
Cynthia never seemed affected. Is there something about me that makes
me different? And if so... well, Joseph experienced the same thing,
right?

Also, I did feel drawn to this place. So what does that mean about
me? Those dreams I have... I'm not myself in them. Sometimes I think I
don't even know who I am. I look in what is left of my mirror and I
see a haunted stranger lurking behind my eyes. Receiver of Wisdom...
what IS that? Joseph Schreiber. Walter Sullivan. Silent Hill.
Something tells me that even if I make it through all of this, in the
end I still won't truly understand it.

I need to get back to Eileen. If she even truly is Eileen. What's
real now? I don't know whether to hope that she is really there
waiting for me, or that she's not.

The only thing I know is everyone else I've met has died, and I will
fight for my own life, but I'll also fight to the end to protect Eileen. If
I can't save her, then what good has any of this been?

I turn through the door, step into the mess of dried blood spattered
across the small room. I stand looking at the hole, the only passage
that is open to me.

How much further do I have to delve into this nightmare?