I got my start in wildlife out of pure desperation--on my part and the part of my employer. I had been out of college for two years, had fought fires for two summers and needed a job that was less, well, fiery. So what did I do? I applied to be a hooter. No, not a waitress who wears skimpy clothes. An idiot who walks through the woods, hooting like an owl.
When I showed up to the interview, I met two men. One charismatic. The other not so much. Charismatic Guy did all the talking. “Not So Much” sat in the corner and listened.
Charismatic Guy: “What kind of outdoor experience do you have?”
Me: “I fought fires for two seasons.”
“Have you ever hiked off trail on your own?”
“No.”
“Do you know how to read a map and compass?”
“No.”
“Do you know how to drive a four-wheel-drive truck?”
“No.”
“Do you know how to hoot?”
“No.”
“Do you know what a spotted owl looks like?”
“They have spots, right?”
Charismatic Guy looked at Not So Much. They both gave pathetic “why me” sort of laughs then said, “You’re hired.”
Poor bastards.
