I don't care about your stupid mascot

A few weeks ago I saw a unique moment and was compelled to photograph it. It was a guy, very obviously worn out, sitting on the floor just inside the open door to a locker room with his large foam head by his side resting.
I was thinking, "wow, this is an excellent moment that shows just how much physical activity it takes to be a mascot." So I snapped a few photos, I'll say twenty. Twenty photos is really nothing for a professional photographer shooting digital these days. After shooting the kid I went on about my merry way to meet an extremely urgent deadline. This particular client is a 24/7 outfit and they want everything NOW.
A few feet past the top of the ramp to leave the stadium and get to the pressbox I was accosted by two very frantic young ladies. They demanded to know if I had taken photographs of their mascot without his head on. "Yep, I sure did. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a deadline to make."
"You need to delete those photos right now!" replied one of the girls.
For those of you who don't know what it is like to be a journalist let me lay some ground rules for how to really upset us.
1. Tell us we can't do something.
2. Tell us you won't give us certain information we can get in another way. Trust me, when you make a journalist fill out a FOIA because you want to be a jerk off it only ends up poorly for you in the end.
3. Make demands of us.
4. Make demands of us that violate basic human rights as outlined by The Constitution.
There are lots of other ways to tick off a journalist, but I think it would be much more fun for you to experiment and discover those things on your own.
So, there I am, talking to this blond girl who takes her mascot WAY to seriously and demanding I delete photos. I tell her no, strongly and try to get away when the mascot's "coach" shows up.
Coach. Coach?
I'm sorry, this Yosemite Sam rip off of a mascot jumps around and holds big fake pistols in the air for portions of a football game and he has a freaking coach. I'd have a little more respect if it were only one person acting like a giant foam-frocked idiot, but after I photographed the tired guy I saw his brother cruising down the ramp.
What exactly does this coach do? She isn't taking any Constitutional Law classes I'm positive of that. And why would your authority as a mascot's "coach" all of a sudden compel me to delete photos. I'm sorry honey, but if you want me to delete images from my card you better either have a gun or be a Native American, if you combine the two it's pretty much a given.
Now, if anyone out there can explain to me some sort of sacred cultural/religious significance to a university's mascot I might change my tune. Look, this guy is no Zuni Mudhead. How do I know he's no Mudhead, because I've interacted with them. Zuni Katchinas don't have coaches, and I can guarantee you they have a harder job than some Pistol Pete wannabe.
So, I tell the very upset ladies that I'm not going to delete the images. They are unrelenting and finally I agree, I was totally lying. By this point I wanted to not delete the images to make a point. I tell them that I really don't have time to discuss this because of my deadline and I really need to go. I also find it interesting that by this point neither of the frustrated females can tell my why exactly I need to delete my images.
"We can't have those images out there," was the only reply they could give. Sorry sweet cheeks, but that is not an answer. To their credit, I didn't really do a good job of explaining why I was not going to delete the images either. I was pretty sure my explanation was going to take too much time and just be lost on the idiots anyway. What I should have said was:
"Ma'am, your mascot was sitting in front of an open door in the exit ramp of a football stadium which was paid for with tax dollars. Aside from the fact that any idiot can peak under the tarp which covers the ramp and possibly see your mascot, he is in a public place. Because he is in a public place he has no reasonable expectation of privacy. Thanks to the first amendment to The Constitution of the United States, I, as a journalist, get to photograph your headless mascot if he is in public and -- gasp, publish it. That is where the 'press' part comes in."
I'm pretty sure that would have been a waste of time. Rather I said, "I'm on an insanely tight deadline and don't have time to explain this to you."
So she asked for my card, nearly trusting that I would delete the photos later, and followed me to the elevator ensure me she would call to make sure I had deleted the images. I told her that would be great.
One of the things I have always hated about journalists and have always tried to change about myself is the fact that if we don't need something from you it is nearly impossible to contact us. All my friends are that way, they never return phone calls. I try not to be that way, but I am. So this girl can call me until she's blue in the face, but since I haven't answered the phone on my desk in at least 6 months I'm pretty sure she is going to have a rough go of it.
Much to my misfortune, there was a guy with a gun in the elevator to the press box. He was a university police officer, and I think maybe the girl had a better grasp of Constitutional Law than he did. But hey, no one ever said cops need to know the law -- they just have to enforce it.
So now, I have another freaked out college kid, the coach has left and there is a cop there. The very nice man who operates the elevator, I like the guy and am serious when I say he is nice, needs to close the door. So the cop suggest we get off and discuss things. I, like a bonehead, agree.
Finally after a bunch of needling and me honestly not being 100% sure on the policy with the mascot, point one kid and say, "You! Get over here." Then I point to the cop and say, "You're going to watch this too." I make sure they can see the monitor and delete the images. I make sure they are happy and get on the elevator.
The cop follows me, I'm sure he is still regretting it.
I turn to him and say, "You understand what I did was a courtesy right? The First Amendment guarantees that no one, not even you, can make me delete images." He just looked at me.
Once in the pressbox I set about ingesting my photos, a time period when I can't do much, and leave the photo room to get a drink. The cop is still standing around and I decide I should get his name, just in case this issue gets any more out of hand at a later date.
A little advice to everyone; you want to scare a police officer who is poorly trained -- ask him for his name.
So, I point to Officer Krupkey and say, "I'm going to need to get your name real quick."
His meek reply is, "I don't really want to give you my name. Why do you need my name."
I kindly explain to him that, as a public servant on duty, he is required to give me his name when I ask for it. I then explain that I need it so if this fiasco gets worse later I will be contacting him because he was a witness to the deletion. He goes over and talks to the sports information guy, who either hates my guts because I go off when laws are violated or loves me because I don't put up with much when laws are violated. I'll relay another bonehead legal move the sports info guy was privy too another time.
So, I file my photos, pack up my stuff and take my happy ass back to the field for the second half of football. I was a bit grumbly, but I had to get back to work and put all that crap behind me as best as possible. Of course if you're reading this now, you've seen I haven't done a super job of that.
Well, the game ends and I meet some pals on the field after and we decide to move up to the pressbox together. One of them says to me, "I thought you were arrested."
Evidently this whole thing got WAY out of hand and word got to my photo editor and managing editor that I had been arrested. A few other people heard that as well. I'm glad I had not been arrested, but I can I assure you if I had been many more people would have heard about this, because after calling my boss to bail me out I would have called the regional Associated Press reporter and informed her that I had just been arrested for photographing a mascot in a public place. Trust me, that story would have hit the wire within an hour.
I'm not too bitter about it and I learned some things. I do have a special message for the people who take their mascots and school spirit WAY too seriously:

Boneheads, it's such a completely small fraction of your life, college, you need to spend some of it having fun. See those kids in the stands, half-naked with their bodies painted in November so drunk they can hardly stand? Those people are doing what you should be doing. If you think "coaching" a guy in a foam suit is fun, and from what I've seen "coaching" involves following him around and looking like a moron, then more power too you but you're wrong. I don't know maybe you're a Mormon and don't really know how to have a good time, but I think you'd be at another school if that were the case.
The fact is, it's just an illusion. You believing so strongly in your mascot is akin to still believing in the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and Smurfs. It's stupid, and you are a little developmentally disabled(that means retarded) for clinging to such beliefs at your age. I only hope some day you realize that. I'm pulling for tomorrow, although I get the impression you're going to be that 75 year-old loser lady at the homecoming game with a huge mum on telling the poor bastard who gets the unfortunate privilege of sitting next to you about how you used to be the mascot's "coach" and saved you're dusty, sober vagina for marriage. Trust me, no one cares now, no one will care then.
So, next time some one takes a photo of your precious, decapitated mascot, think before you start howling like an uppity baboon again. I can guarantee this to you: The only way I will ever, under any circumstances, photograph your mascot again is if he is on fire, selling drugs or flips out and runs head-first into the wall of the stadium at full speed and kills himself.
Now, dry your eyes and get back to studying. Something tells me you're not out partying.