The Gnome

I can only be nice for so long. So back to the snark with yet another story about a wonderful wildlife technician. The first year of this project, I hired three technicians. Two were awesome; one provided me enough stories to write a book, or at least supply material for a few blog posts. Our first meeting went something like this:

My crew leader and I were in our office when someone announced, “Dick has arrived.” (No, Dick is not his real name, but it should be, and yes, he really did announce his presence in this way.) My crew leader and I looked at each other—trying not to laugh or roll our eyes, because we were professionals—then turned toward the door to greet our new tech, Dick.

It was hard to hide my shock, and honestly, I’m not sure I did. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb with ankles and arms crossed was a pouty, five-foot-five elf, wearing designer jeans, shiny leather shoes and a pointy fleece hat. He was bejeweled with silver rings on both hands and his face was covered with a Travelocity Gnome-like beard.

I’d like to say I didn’t judge him on the spot, but anyone who knows me knows that would be a bald-faced lie. Unfairly, I had a picture of this kid in my head when I hired him. He was six feet, burly, wore Carhartts and flannel. In my mind, he was a mountain man. But when I saw him, I couldn’t help but think I’d hired a kid who wasn’t sure if he belonged on MTV or in the woods. His confusion had the unfortunate outcome of making him resemble a gnome...one having an identity crisis.

I admit it. I had a slight panic attack, right there in the office. My gut told me I’d made a mistake, but it was too late. Then I chided myself for not giving him a chance. It was unfair to judge him in the first ten seconds of meeting him. But a nagging voice in the back of my mind kept saying, “Your gut is never wrong. Don’t fight the gut.” But I had to, so I slapped a smile on my face and forged ahead.

Straight into a brick wall I like to call hell.