Disclaimer: sadly, sadly the boys aren't mine
Warnings/Comments: it's written by me and I've no beta and English isn't my first language
A certain photographer was hired to take wedding photos. He usually didn't do these kind of work but for an old school friend, no, cancel it, they were only classmates. So, in honor of their shared past at school he decided to do this particular job.
But he soon regretted it, his former classmate, a son of a very successful lawyer, tried to impress his newly married wife and took any chance to – sometimes subtly – bawl him out.
Yes, he was a really great photographer – but not successful since nobody knows him.
Yes, he took down a lot of Yakuza with his photos – but only the little fishes.
And so on.
The whole day this pain in the ass – he now remembered why they weren't friends at school – acted worse than a little child with a sweet tooth which wasn't allowed to buy something while visiting a candy store...
Finally the shooting was done – without killing someone which was a surprise.
A few – polite – final words to the photographed people and our photographer took leave.
Back at his apartment he developed the pictures fast; he wanted to get this job as fast done as possible so he would never again have something to do with this pain in the ass.
And since they hadn't spoken about the fee he decided at last to double the bill.
It doesn't matter how high your position on the food chain is, there is always someone higher. The high positioned had their own rules, their own schools, their own shops, own clubs, own dress code since they were a closed society. And since you meet in your life every person a second time, behave!
A limousine stopped in front of a club in Tokyo, the driver got out and opened the door for the passenger who got out of the car, too.
The passenger throws a glance around, seeing a group of people which wanted to enter his club; he didn't say anything, his expression didn't change as he entered his club, however the bouncer looked at each other.
Caution. Someone in this group wasn't properly dressed or someone the owner disliked.
One would see.
The group arrived and wanted to enter the club.
As usual, the bouncer checked the appearance of the guests – and then they saw it. One man wore a tie whose color was a shade too bright.
The bouncer did their job and refused the group to enter the club.
The man made a fuss, his friends and he were celebrating his wedding and obviously they didn't know who he was, his father was a real successful lawyer and if they know what's good for them they would allowed them to enter the club or they would be fired.
And so on.
The ranting doesn't bother the bouncer since dealing with a pissed off boss wasn't a highlight on their agenda. No, again, cancel it. Dealing with their boss was so not on their agenda.
With the words 'You don't respect our dress code and we have a high standard to maintain' the group was rejected.
A yell was heard. 'I'll tell it my father!'
The group turned and got ready to go back to their cars as a certain person passed them.
The bouncer bowed deep, showing clearly their respect and opened immediately the door.
Since he came from a stakeout he wore worn-out-shoes, plain jeans and a shirt with the phrase 'No Surrender', a backpack hung over his shoulder, a baseball cap on his head.
Throwing a fast glance to the rejected group, he nods and with a 'Thank you, guys' he entered the club.
It wasn't possible that this happened. A mere photographer, wearing clothes which only would bear a homeless – at least in their opinion – was pampered and they, sons of successful people, weren't allowed to enter this club?
"Hey, why was he allowed to enter the club but we not? Aren't all men equal? If not, then you should allow us to enter this club, not him. Or was that with the standard a joke?!"
A last try.
The bouncer exchanged an amused glance.
"Yes, all men are equal, but some are more equal than others. And those someone's are welcome, it doesn't matter how they look. Now leave."
They were dismissed.
The group stood there like frozen, the look on their faces, priceless.
END