I've made many mistakes in my career as a biologist or field technician. Losing field equipment, damaging a vehicle, or similar things are embarrassing and sometimes expensive, but these things don't usually stick with me - what sticks with me most are the times I've made assumptions, had a bad attitude, or let my ambitions get the better of me at work, creating memories I wish I didn't have. Maybe I'm depressed right now, or homesick, or whatever, but for some reason I feel like expounding on some of the times I've made bad choices which have impacted my relationships with my supervisors and coworkers, and maybe even impacted my future in this field. I sure hope not.
It's not good to harbor regrets, but maybe these memories can be useful to someone by showing him or her what not to do.
I'll start with a lighter, shorter story, though, a little mistake that falls more in the category of "embarrassing and sometimes expensive" errors, and only slightly in the other, more serious category.
When I worked in Yellowstone, we all lived in small travel trailers in a residential area near the Lake intended for temporary employees and volunteers. The trailers were connected for electricity, gray water drainage, and fresh water for drinking and cooking, but we had to use nearby bathroom buildings to take showers and use the toilets. The electricity and water we used were monitored per trailer site, and the cost came out of the grant money for our boss's research study. Heating and gas for cooking were provided by small propane tanks attached outside the trailer.
I arrived late in the season to fill in for another employee who had to go back to school. My first day was sometime in the beginning of September. The Lake area of Yellowstone is at an altitude of about 8000 feet or more, and in September, the cold weather really starts to settle in. Nighttime freezing temperatures are common, as are freak snowfalls.
For my first few days of work, I slept in my trailer by myself. My roommate Shannon was visiting Livingston, Montana where she lived with her husband on her days off, and a friend of my boss Jenn, who was visiting from Idaho, was using the spare bed - but the two of them were off on a multi-day camping trip. I hadn't even met my boss yet, actually.
I awoke for a day of front-country hiking to collect bear data, the morning dawning bright and cold. I staggered to the sink and turned the tap to fill up my tea kettle, but no water came out - the pipes had frozen during the night.
In my drowsiness, I realized I couldn't remember which direction I had turned the tap. I experimented with the other tap, the hot water one, but it didn't really help me figure out the problem. If the hot tap turns on to the left, does that mean the cold tap does the same? Or are they opposite? I'm not a plumber. I had no idea how these things work, and I've lived in so many places with so many little differences in things like plumbing that I couldn't remember if I'd ever observed a clear pattern with these things.
I had a 50/50 chance. So I picked a side and cranked the tap all the way, got my things together, and left the trailer. I had to meet my coworkers and other boss, Justin, at their two trailers, which were side by side and located a bit further down the road. We discussed the day's plans and headed out to the West Thumb area, where Justin trained me and the other new employees, Gabe and Caryn, in the field collection techniques.
After a day of fun scooping mushroom-y bear poop and identifying day beds, I returned to my trailer. I walked through the door to find things slightly re-arranged - apparently Jenn and her friend had returned from their trip sometime during the day. I also noticed some wet towels hanging around the sink area.
As I began preparing dinner, standing over the sink, a face appeared outside the kitchen window. "Rebecca?" she said. I put down what I was working on and walked outside.
"You must be Jenn!" I said cheerily. After all, first impressions are everything.
"Yeah," she said. She didn't look happy.
"How was your trip?" I asked, now a bit uncertain.
"Good. So, did you know that you left the tap turned all the way on, and it flooded the trailer?"
Oops.
I tried to explain about the frozen pipes, and how I couldn't remember which way I'd turned the tap. She never broke a smile, instead making sure I knew about how she had to pay for all the water we used out of her grant money, and how all I needed to do was turn the faucet to a slow drip during the night to keep the pipes from freezing again. I apologized and went back inside with my tail tucked between my legs.
Well, so much for that first impression.
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