The Fashionable Zookeeper

"'I Did In Fact Try To Clean Your Suit With Spot Remover, Sir," said Mr. Pump.  "But Since It Was Effectively Just One Large Spot, It Removed The Whole Suit.'

'I liked that suit!  At least you could have saved it for dusters, or something.'

'I'm Sorry Sir, I'd Assumed That Dusters Had Been Saved For Your Suit."

- Going Postal, Terry Pratchett

When I was in college, I volunteered at a wildlife rehab center, where I came to meet a girl that I was interested in.   That semester, our center was involved with an important trustee event on campus, and as a thank you for our assistance (mostly giving tours of our facility to potential alumni donors), we received a few tickets to a fancy dinner that the university was hosting.  I asked her to go as my date, and she accepted.

The night of the dinner, I was waiting for her outside the banquet hall, wondering if she had gotten cold feet.  We were supposed to have met 15 minutes earlier, and, to my surprise, she wasn't there.  Punctuality had always been a characteristic of her, so I couldn't imagine what was keeping her.   Finally, I pulled out my cell to give her a call... and heard her ring tone, five feet behind me.  When I turned, there she was, wearing a nice skirt and blouse, her hair neatly done (well I was wearing a jacket and tie).  She hadn't been late.  She'd been there just as long as I had, waiting for me.  We'd been close enough to touch, but hadn't recognized each other.

It turns out, even though we both knew we were going to a fancy function, neither of us had been able to imagine the other dressed up.  I've had that experience a few times since when we've had keepers-nights-out and I've seen my coworkers dressed up for the evening.

While many of the animals we care for have made their contributions to the fashion industry (python skins, leopard coats, alpaca fleece, ostrich plumes) - generally unwillingly - zookeepers are not known for their tremendous sense of fashion.  We are blessed to work in a field where, on most days, you know exactly what you are going to wear, and that thankfully it isn't the khaki safari costumes that TV shows and movies often portray us in.  Usually, it's a pair of khaki shorts or long pants, a trusty pair of boots, and a T-shirt or polo shirt with the facility's logo.

Some zoos go the extra mile and give their staff rain-gear and winter coats.  With others, you're lucky to get a spare shirt.

As one might expect, our clothing, which isn't chosen for high fashion, doesn't stay presentable for long.  There are rips and tears, a colorful (and odoriferous) assortment of stains, and, after a while, a baked-in stench that no laundry detergent can conquer.  I had one shirt that, towards the end, was so badly off that it couldn't be folded.  I've made a point over the years of sorting my uniforms into three piles.  There are normal ones.  There are "dress" ones, which I save for special events, important behind-the-scenes tours, news interviews, and the like.  There are ones which I save for other "special" occasions - such as when I knew I'd be wrangling pigs out of a muddy sty.

I've written previously on this blog about footwear and socks, so now I'll close with a note about the second most important of keeper fashion - pockets.  Pockets are life.  There is a reason that zookeepers are almost singlehandedly keeping the cargo-short industry afloat. You need pockets for the things normal people use them for, as well as fecal sample cups, your Leatherman tool and/or a knife, your clicker or whistle for training, favorite snacks for animals, and half of the keys which have been made in the history of the world.  Anything can go into a pocket, which can make for some interesting discoveries before, during, or after laundry ("Oh... that's where I put that uneaten mouse...").  It's a bit maddening, because with so many pockets (all of which are necessary) you can spend forever trying to remember which pocket something disappeared into.

This is a special source of irritation to the ladies, who make up the majority of the zookeeping profession, since most women's' pants lack sufficient pockets.  It's bad enough that they have to deal with hay in their bras, an experience, they have assured me, which is like having a wad of sandpaper vigorously scrubbed against your chest all day.   The options they face are a) deal with no pockets, or b) wear men's pants, which may not fit quite right.  Hopefully, some enterprising keeper out there will start a fashion line for zookeepers, designing clothes that are comfortable, practical, and stylish.

I know I'd buy them.  I can always use more pockets too.