WTG Devin

WordPress won’t let me post pictures for some nonsensical reason, which is why I haven’t posted in so long, so you know what I say?  F wordpress.  And its little dog.  So without further ado:

A few months ago I decided to forsake all the comforts of modern society and spend my remaining years eking out a harsh existence in the wilderness. Then I decided that wasn’t masochistic enough, so I became a teacher. In the woods. For the past four months (not counting the last two months, which I have spent visiting old friends and reminding them of all the money they owe me) I have been what is known in the industry as an “outdoor educator”. Each week I get a new group of kids, grades 4-12, and take them around a different beautiful location in California, teaching them about botany, ecology, how to completely embarrass themselves in front of their peers, how to lose respect for adults, how to wash dishes in the woods, but not, unfortunately, how to stop asking insipid questions like “Are we there yet?” or “Is it normal for snake bites to bleed this much?”. Kids these days.

Many of the people I work with are insane. The first co-worker I met had worked for AmeriCorps for 2 years, been a spotter on a whale watching boat, a firefighter in Big Sur, a wilderness therapist in Utah, and in college had taken an Arctic Explorer’s class where for the final he mimicked the sleep patterns of a wolf for a week. Other co-workers spin fire, travel obsessively, and blow up mountainsides full of snow for avalanche control. This is because most of my co-workers are seasonally employed, meaning that all of them have had approximately 237 thousand different jobs. And each job is usually in some exotic, far off locale, like Hawaii, Chile, or Neverland. Actually, that’s exactly what my company is – Neverland (the one with Peter Pan, not the one with Michael Jackson). We work in gorgeous, dream-like settings all over California (Neverland), we teach over-privileged, spoiled, mostly white kids (neglected British children of low-level aristocracy – how come James Barrie didn’t include any cockney children with black lung? – oh wait, that’s right, because he was nowhere near as cool as Roald Dahl, who in addition to being from a well-off family and writing about poor kids, was a fighter pilot in WW2, broke a crash landing with his chiseled features, and then became a spy – and when I say spy I mean he had sex with a lot of American women from wealthy families), all our employees are adults who never want to grow up and are completely content with entertaining children for hours on end (the Lost Boys) who dress at every opportunity like pirates (the pirates), Native Americans (the racistly-depicted Native Americans – are there any other kind?), and giant f-off crocodiles with enormous clocks in our bellies (exclusively on river trips).

Anyways, due to the diverse array of jobs my co-workers have had, they end up with a pretty ridiculous skill set and job outlook. Example:

Me – Hey Drew, what are you up to?

Drew – Oh, I’m moving to Oakland, so I’m looking for jobs on craigslist.

Me – Cool, find anything interesting?

Drew – Well, I could be a personal assistant to a producer. In the porn industry.

Me – That’s awesome. You should do that.

Drew – I don’t know. There’s this other job, where I would be a clown at children’s parties. “Must provide own transportation.” Ha! I could totally entertain kids for a few hours! That’s what I do now.

Me- Why not do both?

Drew – I would totally be the best porn personal assistant slash children’s party clown ever.

That has to violate some part of Megan’s Law.

Because seasonal employees are constantly moving around, it’s inconvenient for us to have certain things that most people take for granted – like homes, or personal hygiene. Most of my co-workers live out of their cars. For those of us who care about the environment too much to own a car (read: too cheap), living out of a backpack is the solution. Which means I had to bum rides from all my co-workers, putting my life in the hands of people who are not quite all there. Carpooling also leads to fun escapades like almost getting arrested in the middle of the desert by border patrol, and then learning how to drive stick shift in a K-Mart parking lot in 20 minutes at midnight before embarking on several miles of dirt roads (also in the desert). The conversation with the border patrol really epitomized the ridiculousness:

Border Patrol (BP) – So what do you guys do?

Will – We’re outdoor educators.

BP – What’s that?

Will – We take school groups backpacking and canoeing in the woods, and teach them about ecology and stuff.

BP – So you’re teachers.

Will – Yeah, kind of.

BP – So where are you guys headed so late?

Will – We’re going to Blythe, and then these guys are going to the Colorado River.

BP – Why are you going to Blythe?

Will – I have to get my car there.

BP – Your car? Whose car is this?

Will – It’s Scott’s car.

BP – Scott? Scott who?

Will – I don’t know his last name.

BP – You don’t know the last name of the person whose car you’re driving?

Will – No.

BP – What kind of person lets you borrow their car without knowing them?

Will – I know Scott, I just didn’t know his last name. The company we work for has us carpool a lot.

BP – What do you guys do again?

Will – Outdoor education.

BP – Right . . . whatever. We’re going to have to search the car.

Next up, an in-depth study of what’s at the bottom of a bottle of Jameson’s.