Debbie Downer

I can be quick to volunteer for things.  Sometimes, a little too quick.  During a performance review years back, my boss suggested that, the next time he asked for volunteers for something, that I count to five quietly before jumping in.  This would, a) possibly reduce the number of things on my plate, and b) give someone else a chance to volunteer.  I remember quipping that I'd count to a hundred if I thought that it would actually make a difference and someone else would step up to the plate.  He laughed pretty hard.

I wasn't too impressed with my coworkers back in those days.

Among the things that, ill-advisedly or not, I volunteered for back in those days was to go to a high school for their career day.  I had a half-hour segment blocked off, with the topic of "So You Want To Be a Zookeeper?"  I put a PowerPoint presentation on a flashdrive, tossed a ball python into a pillow case (it had absolutely no relevancy to the talk, but I feel like when you go to something like this, you're expected to have an animal), and put on a clean uniform.  Or, at least a uniform that started the day as clean.  The talk wasn't until 1PM, after all.

I gave my standard talk about what it's like to be a zookeeper.  The kids seem to enjoy it.  They laughed, plenty of times - both with me and at me.  They asked good questions.  The snake was a hit, as it always was and always will be.  Afterwards, I was chatting with the teacher while waiting for the next session to come in, when she hit me with a question that I hadn't been expected.  "Was I trying to discourage the kids from applying?"  She wasn't even a little angry or upset - more that she was slightly confused.  So was I.

I guess that, unlike anyone else who spoke to her kids that week, I'd spent plenty of time talking about the downsides of being a keeper as I did the positives.  I mentioned the fiercely competitive hiring process, the poor pay (I've generally gotten by ok, but I've also been very lucky in that I didn't start off with student debt), and missed holidays and time with friends and family.   I was clear to point out the physical and emotional toll that the job can take on you.  I distinctly remember highlighting the crazy turnover that I'd seen over the years.  

"Zookeeping," I told the kids, "is a job that a lot of people think they want."

I guess everyone else was trying to sell their jobs, or convince the kids that they - the nurses, the bakers, the graphic design artists - were the luckiest people in the world.  They weren't, I knew back then.  I was.  Still, none of them talked about the hardships of their job and why it might not be for everyone.  

Zookeeping and aquarium jobs are not one-size-fits-all, everyone should sign up.  No job is.  Every job requires a trade-off, and it's a question of finding one that's in line with your passions, skills, interests, and abilities.  Honestly, there are plenty of people who should not be keepers - including some who do become keepers.  It wouldn't be the right fit for them - and, until they realize that, it wouldn't be the right situation for the animals under their care.

I doubt that anyone who is truly meant to be a keeper would be turned off the path by a little fussing from a grumpy old-timer at their high school career day.  It might have spooked off a few kids who thought that they were going to play with animals all day.  To them, I probably didn't make the job sound that fun.  For anyone who was listening, though, the rewards would have still be evident.