Butcher of the Cho Eden Supermarket, Eden Center, Falls Church VA carves pig carcass
Fresh cuts of meat hang in the window of the Cho Eden Supermarket, Eden Center, Falls Church VA
Pig carcass hangs from meat hook in Cho Eden Supermarket, Eden Center, Falls Church VA
Butcher with pig carcass in the Cho Eden Supermarket, Eden Center, Falls Church VA
Barista at The Bun Shop, W Read Street, Baltimore
A couple enjoying the ambiance of The Bun Shop on W Read St, Baltimore
The UMBC Salsarita's counter before the lunch rush
Convenience store in Lexington Market in Baltimore
Produce stand at Lexington Market in Baltimore
Produce at Lexington Market in Baltimore
Behind the scenes at Lexington Market, Baltimore
Seafood stand in Lexington Market, Baltimore
Woman makes pupusas at El Salvadoreno Latin Market in Gaithersburg MD
Young Amish girls mesmerize customers as they fold pretzels at the Lancaster County Dutch Market, Germantown MD
Man prepares food products for the following day's customers at Seven Mile Market in Pikesville MD
“Why would you want to take a picture of me?” This is the question I was asked over and over throughout the day by men and women in quiet but shocked voices. Customers stood nearby in clusters awaiting the arrival of their pupusas, or pretzels, or cut of meat, whatever the case may have been. When the workers themselves weren’t asking that question, managers with raised eyebrows and shaking heads were watching from the other end of the store, a safe distance from the camera lens. I was photographing workers in a variety of cultural markets in Maryland.
No one had ever wanted to take these people’s pictures before. Photographs were for special occasions quietly celebrated in their homes, not for when they were wearing aprons splattered with grease, slipping hairnets and dirty gloves. No one had ever wanted to take these people’s pictures before; not until today.
Most of the time, the skeptical managers allowed photographs inside the chipping walls of their livelihood. Some were more hesitant and asked to wait until there were no customers around. Almost without fail though, managers, owners, and supervisors had the only say in whether or not one of their workers was photographed while the individual themselves stood by and pretended not to notice. It was curious, like watching a child waiting for their parents to decide if they can spend the night at a friend’s house, silent yet watchful. The male supervisor in the Amish market even gave off an air of ownership when he granted me permission to photograph the young teenage girls folding pretzel dough next to him. The girls, certainly within earshot of our conversation, did not even glance at me once. It was only after their boss had walked away that they would quietly ask me why I wanted their picture.
There are countless people that we would never even consider exist, yet they impact us every day. We don’t notice the cashier at the grocery store until they forget to ring up our coupons. We don’t pay any mind to the waiter at a restaurant until he hands us the wrong dish. We don’t notice the butcher behind the counter until our “boneless chicken breast” has a bone in it. Why is it that as a society, we refuse to notice the impeccable performance of service personnel up until the instant their performance falters?
