El Panda

Things were going so well this year. I mean, it’s, what, mid-March and we’ve had a pretty solid output of photos and good business. We even had candy! All good things must come to an end, however, and so goes our 2014 streak.

It started innocently enough. Another day, another photoshoot, you know? This time for a small time wrestler named El Panda. The guy claims to be a bigshot, name dropping all the big names he’s wrestled and bragging about all the TV time he’s had. I’ve got a soft spot for los Luchadores, so what the heck. We agree to meet at a high school gymnasium for some action shots (for magazines, I’m told) and headshots (for posters and to sell to fans), and… there’s no ring. No ring, no lights, just a couple of folding chairs and El Panda sitting there in regular clothes and (thankfully) his mask.

Before I can even shake hands, he sees my camera, jumps up on the chair and starts shouting out move names. “Tornado Crossbar! 1080 Chicken Wing!” With each proclamation he would launch off the chair, leaping and waving his arms around. After many, many maneuvers, he comes over, hands me a check (unsigned) and walks away. I call out, asking him to come back and sign his check.
“Sorry, man. No autographs.”
What? No. I need you to sign this check.
“I no speak English.”
El Panda

You are the worst, El Panda.

Be good,

what I don’t show you will never know

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