What could have easily been a scene out of Goodfellas was probably my most confrontational experience taking candid photos. The incident took place at an afterwork rooftop bar  in Midtown Manhattan. I had been there previously, with no objection to me photographing. But on this particular evening there stood a prominent figure in the crowd who I intentionally avoided taking photos of, suspecting it could land me in a bit of trouble.

Anyhow, about an hour into things, a huge Bouncer approached me to ask, “Who are you taking photos for?”

“No one, just myself” I said.

“Sorry, you’re gonna to have to check that camera in.”

Judging the situation I somehow figured if I checked my camera in, I’d either never see it, or the film inside again and replied “That’s okay , I’m not gonna check it in, I’ll just have to leave.” As I began to motion towards the exit — that is before I actually took one step, the Bouncer blocked my path and said “This way,” extending his arm towards a pathway at the rear of the venue, opposite the exit.

Becoming a bit agitated — “why would I go that way, the exit’s over there,” — pointing towards the stairs that led my to the rooftop.

In a sarcastically nice tone — “Look at me buddy, I’ve got a smile on my face, nobody here knows theres a problem and I don’t wanna have to make a scene, but if you want we can do this the hard way.”

I looked over my far shoulder too see if my friends were aware of the situation and sure enough they were watching, so I decided to comply and avoid a potentially embarrassing situation. The Bouncer led me through a short path that ended at set of elevator doors. We entered and he pressed for the ground floor. Stopping midway, a chef entered the lift and complemented me on my big fancy camera before getting off ahead of us. Apart from that there was only silence through the journey. We got to the ground floor and as we exited the lift, much to my relief I could see main entrance/exit. But as I motioned towards the ray of light, after a few steps the Bouncer stopped me and said “In here,” extending his arm to an unmarked door that was clearly not an exit.

“What? — I’m not gonna go in there.”

“IN HERE NOW! — The Owner wants to speak to you”

Didn’t have much of choice, so as he opened the door I walked in and the Bouncer closed the door behind us. Finding myself in a fairly large room, about 30 or 40 feet directly ahead of me, a dead serious chiselled man garbed in a black suit sat behind a large wooden desk with his arms folded. 15 feet or so to my right, an angry-faced lady sat behind another desk, and 10 feet or so to my left, a smirky-faced gentleman sat behind a third desk. The chiselled man ahead of me was a clearly a senior figure, I’m guessing the owner of the club. This was all observed in a flash, but quite literally, the very second I stepped in the room the lady to my right began shouting at the top of her voice:

“WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR!” “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE!” … “BLAH BLAH BLAH!”

I calmly explained that I’m an artist, I work for no one and that it was my third time attending with friends, one of them promotes the event. I added that each time entering the club, security was fully aware I brought a camera and even observed me taking photos before … no one ever told me not to take photos here.  As if nothing I said made any clear sense, the lady continued rambling:

“WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR!” “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE!” … “BLAH BLAH BLAH!”

The gentleman to my left also put in his two sense here and there, in a more calmly style of interrogation, nonetheless equally repetitive and seemingly in complete disbelief of my responses. The owner of the club only observed, never taking his eyes off me, he remained in his seat as a statue. This went on for about 10 minutes back and forth. After stating my case several times over with no acknowledgement to fact I had answered their questions … I became frustrated as yelled out:

“OKAY! Can SOMEBODY here acknowledge that I HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG!!??” — this while staring the owner in the eyes and nodding my head “yes.”

A brief moment of silence passed then in most subtle way possible, the chiselled man behind the big desk gave slight nod indicating “yes.” There after the Bouncer behind me immediately says:

“Okay buddy, you’re going to have to leave the premises NOW!”

“Yea, I know that, and I’m never coming back”

As I made my way out the room, the Bouncer bumped shoulder and stared me down. He walked me to main exit/entrance which was down a flight of stairs. Just before I exit, he places one arm on my shoulder, while making a “cut-throat” gesture with his other hand and yells out to another bouncer at the bottom of the stairs:

“Tony … HE”S FINISHED!”

For the first time real fear kicks in … with my heart pumping I head down the stairs thinking to myself — “does that mean what I think it means?”

I left the club “watching my back” every 5 seconds and felt lucky to be placed in the busy streets of midtown manhattan. Even so, I hopped in the first cab I saw; got off in the lower Manhattan; and then jumped on the “A” train straight to Brooklyn … just incase I was followed.

And that place has Never seen me again!

Kurt Arnold

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