In view of a lack of time, here's a quick story to amuse you. It's something of a moral tale, so clearly, as a non-theist type-person, I shouldn't be telling it, right?
It was late January. A telephone call came in to the science store. It was a local representative, an academic, for a science competetion for secondary school students. They needed help: did we have anyone who could run one of their sections of the upcoming competetion, specifically the section on fossils?
It sounded like the sort of thing that I would enjoy, so after some negotiation and fact-finding, I accepted. I generally enjoy the opportunity to do science education - it's a good and useful expenditure of my time. I would have been happier running a section on rocks and minerals, and I normally tell people that fossil are not my strong suit, but in this case, it would be straightforward. It was essentially an exercise in identification and placement of the fossils at the correct point in geologic history. I went out, bought the recommended source book so I wouldn't be working too far out in the wilderness from what the students had prepared, and set to work.
I planned for it to be really fascinating and cool as well. While the identification could have been done from photographs or sketches, why would we do that when I had the cool stuff at my disposal? We have some fairly interesting, unusual, and expensive fossils and fossil casts at the store, and I felt certain that I could persuade the owners to let me borrow some of them for the competition. I also had an overarching plan - to present the fossils as evolutionarily grouped over the different geologic epochs. Bonus questions would allow the students to fill in the gaps, if they could. And, despite it falling on St. Valentine's Day and a Saturday, GHR, rather than balking at the idea, wanted to come with me and help. Scheduling would be tight, but I could make it work. Everything seemed to have fallen into place.
About a week later, with exactly ten days to go, an email arrived:
Hi William—
My name is [name], and I am a member of the [withheld] Club ([office held withheld]). [The Party of the Second Part] had asked me a while ago to compose the test for the fossil portion of the [this event]. I understand that the director of this year’s [event], [Event Director], has asked you to conduct the fossil test. If you wish to do this, I am o.k. with that. If you want to split the questions, that would work also. I have a few questions done on trace fossils, trilobites, and brachiopods. Let me know what you want to do and if you want me to help. I will be available to proctor the test on Feb 14, and also have some specimens that can be used for the stations.
Thanks,
[name]
And here's how it sounded in my head:
My name is [ name withheld ]. I was originally asked by [ someone who's name I don't recognise ] to run the fossil section of this event.
I [hold a high office] of the [ local fossil society ]. I know a lot about fossils, and have a collection. I was preparing to run the event's fossil section, but I hadn't bothered to write back to the organisers yet to tell them. It seems as though they've asked you, whoever you are, to do it instead.
I could take over running this. Or I suppose we could work together. If we had to. Let me know.
It's actually a misuse of the "blockquote" tag there in the second instance, but I think that I've accurately reproduced the tone that I heard in my head. This is what, on reading it, I got from the email. Of course, that's one of the dangers of email: unless you're precise, your reader may or may not get the message that you intend.
In any event, this was something that I had not expected, and I quickly weighed my options:
- I could accept co-proctoring the event, and attempt to work with someone I didn't know, at the last minute, against the backdrop of my already-planned programme.
- I could refuse, and say that I wanted to run the event by myself.
- I could drop out from running the event.
You would be right in saying that there was no good thing to do. I could adapt, and work with someone who - from the tone of their email - was clearly some sort of über-fossil royalty, and clearly casting themself as my better - after all, I wasn't a part of their club. I could carry on myself, with now-wrathful eyes watching my every step for a mistake. Or I could step aside, in favour of someone who was, by dint of their interest and apparent experitse, probably more qualified than I.
I emailed the organiser and stepped aside.
At the time that I did this, I presented all sorts of justifications to myself, saying that "I'm sure they can do it better" and that while, yes, my version would have been pretty cool, "they're bound to have access to all sorts of good fossil to use". And surely, "they've been planning to do this, therefore it should be good".
Why, then, had they wanted to work together? On, I think, the Wednesday before the competition Saturday, I found out.
An individual came into the store mid-afternoon, and introduced themself as my email interlocutor. Did we have any fossils that they could purchase for the section? They had lost all of theirs.
I was more than a little gobsmacked.
This was the person who had flaunted their expertise?
This was a local society office-hodler? They went on to explain that they only really knew local fossils, and didn't have any representation of anything outside of the
Pennsylvanian era. After looking and clucking their tongue at how expensive fossils can be, they spent about $20 on a few tiny instances and left.
I didn't hear anything about how the eventual event went over. I feel certain that, as a result, the students who participated in this event didn't have as rich an experience as they might have done. I couldn't possibly have known it at the time, but I certainly felt badly seeing the paltry selection of fossils that went out the door with this fossil society leader. I felt badly knowing that my ideas, my plans... based on what I had seen, they would have been better.
Like every time that I make a bad decision in my life, I try to learn how not to do the same thing again. Remember how this was going to be a moral tale? Or, at least, a tale with a moral? This time, I think that the moral that I learned was this: I should really, really trust my instincts. I should learn to see through titles, and hollow bluster, better than I do now. The line that I should have taken? "I've already put a lot of work into this event. If you would like to see my notes, you are welcome to, but currently, I think that I have a handle on everything. If you would like to assist with proctoring this event, let's talk about when and how you will be there to help out."
Honestly, it would have been better. Better for students trying to be keen on science. Better for the event. And better for me, not having to realise that I was essentially out-bluffed by a brachiopod hunter.
