I’ve suspected it for years.
Not bragging. Just stating a well-documented, peer-reviewed, repeatedly field-tested fact.
I can make people smile.
Instantly.
No setup.
No warmup act.
No juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle.
Just…
raise…
the camera.
It started back at Providence College (pictured above). I’d be minding my own business, Nikon slung over my shoulder like some sort of socially acceptable security blanket, and the moment I lifted it—boom.
Smiles.
Big ones.
Teeth.
Dimples.
People who looked like they hadn’t smiled since the Carter administration suddenly lighting up like they just won front-row tickets to Springsteen.
At first, I thought it was me.
Maybe I had “approachable face.”
Maybe I radiated charm.
Then I caught my reflection once.
Let’s just say… the camera is doing the heavy lifting.
Fast forward to Oslo.
Rain. Not a drizzle. Not a mist.
Real Scandinavian, “this builds character whether you like it or not” rain.
I’m geared up like I’m about to summit Everest. Hood up. Jacket zipped to my nose. Probably looking like a damp, middle-aged marshmallow with a Nikon.
I’m walking along, scanning for something—anything—to photograph.
And then I see it.
A table.
A long one.
Inside a restaurant, glowing like a lighthouse of laughter and wine.
A group of women mid-conversation, the kind where everyone is talking, no one is listening, and somehow it’s perfect.
Glasses everywhere. Wine catching the light. That warm, golden, “you should really sit down and stay awhile” kind of scene.
I think to myself:
Ah… the glasses. Nice composition. Reflections. Depth. This is art, George.
So I do what I always do.
I raise the camera.
And just like that…
The superpower activates.
One of them spots me.
You can actually see the exact moment it happens—the “Hey… is that guy taking a picture?” look.
And then—
Domino effect.
Smile.
Smile.
Wave.
Lean in.
Full-on “Girls’ Night Goes International” energy.
Now I’m not photographing wine glasses anymore.
I’m apparently the guest of honor.
Hands go up.
Faces light up.
Someone’s mid-laugh, someone else is pointing at me like I just walked in wearing a Viking helmet and singing ABBA.
And then there’s one.
There’s always one.
On the right side of the table.
Glass in hand.
Mid-sip.
Frozen.
Eyes saying everything her mouth can’t because it’s currently occupied with wine:
“What… is happening right now?”
“Who is this wet man?”
“Why is everyone waving?”
“Should I wave?”
“I’m just trying to have a sip of wine…”
She is the control group in this social experiment.
Everyone else?
Fully under the influence of my superpower.
And me?
Standing there in the rain, camera up, laughing to myself because once again—without saying a word, without asking permission, without so much as a “cheese”—I’ve turned a quiet dinner into a moment.
Click.
And just like that, Oslo joins the growing list of places where my superpower has been confirmed.
No cape.
No theme music.
Just a Nikon… and a slightly suspicious ability to make strangers smile on command.
I don’t question it anymore.
I just use it for good.
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