The story behind the picture or the picture behind the story 3 or: Shit happens!
Sometimes all it takes is a single click - or a single non-click - and you have the salad. For me, it was a full, American "click". Late spring 1991, Glaubenberg - and the day was suddenly reorganized.
The job? Actually a dream: to present the Chevrolet Blazer in the right light for GM. Off-road, rugged, a bit of adventure - and snow if possible. In central Switzerland? You'll find off-road terrain everywhere. But snow at the end of spring? More like a lottery.
So I went up with the Ami - further and further, steeper and steeper - until I actually found a defiant, remaining snow field above Lake Sarnen. Perfect? No. But usable. And the scenery was just right. That was all I wanted.
I was alone on the trail. Not a soul around. So I put my blazer down, got out and had a look around. The light? It was fine. Perspective? Could be worse. Snow? Still there.
Click.
Door closed.
I reach for the handle. Nothing. Again. Still nothing.
And yes - the key is in the ignition lock, of course. Windows? Sure, all closed. And me? Outside. Locked out. Completely.
Swearing doesn't help at all. And we're talking about a time when a cell phone was about as realistic as a helicopter on call. So: walk.
Destination: Gasthaus Langis. "Only" a few kilometers. Sounds harmless - but it's quite a drag if you don't have a jacket or proper shoes and your mood is slowly deteriorating. Two hours later, I was actually standing there. Sweaty, slightly annoyed - and with a story that was almost embarrassing for me.
And then - sometimes things work out - a garage owner I know is sitting there having a relaxed coffee. I explain the situation to him, spontaneously buy him a coffee - you never know - and shortly afterwards we're sitting in his Italian limousine and driving back towards the Blazer.
We didn't get very far.
The grounds had other ideas.
So out again. Walking again. This time in pairs - doesn't really make it any better if both of us are wearing the wrong shoes. But at least we had a toolbox with us. Wire, screwdriver - the classics.
A bit of fiddling around, some improvisation - and at some point the door actually opens again. "Breaking it open" is probably a better word. At that moment, it was just: finally.
It was just stupid: time was gone. The sun was lower, the light was different. And the snow? Less too. Significantly less. What was still "usable" before was now more like: you can do it, but you don't have to.
I still went through with the shoot. What do you want to do? Walk for another two hours and hope the snow comes back?
Years later - actually decades - I'm holding the old slides in my hand again. Scratched, a little faded, but just that charm of the past. And suddenly it's all there again.
"Ah yes ... there was something."
What remains? Sure, today you could do the picture better technically. Faster, more efficient. But the story? You can't get it like that anymore.
And the conclusion still stands today: This vehicle assistance ... difficult. The Americans were creative early on - doors lock themselves, key is inside. A great idea.
Today, you often don't need a key at all. The car knows you're there. It's all smart. Everything convenient.
Until the battery runs out.
Shit happens. Only today it at least beeps a bit beforehand.
