Those kinds of questions happen because people don't read when there is a person there they can ask instead. I worked at Sugarlands Visitor Center in the Great Smoky National Park (Tennessee side, near Gatlinburg) in the early 1980s, the summer of the Knoxville Worlds Fair. More people than usual who couldn't find the sign for the bathroom and Coke machine by themselves.

My misfortune was that I had turned down the job when they first offered it, accepted another in Nevada, which didn't work out, then called back the Smokeys and told them I was available after all. Each person there was hired to fill a specific slot, and the first job offered would have been lots of hikes and tours and programs in the Cade's Cove area. What came up when I called back was a job that had been designed for someone with a disability who couldn't even take that job after all. He was to have spent 32 hours a week at the Visitor Center--and I can tell you now that for someone with a heart condition, that stress would have killed him. You can answer good questions all day long and feel very energized. Unfortunately, the smart people know how to find the ammenities for themselves so you generally talk to the not-so-bright visitors and it drags you down fast.

I was in this darned little kiosk (the worst of the worst as far as this job was concerned) out in front of the VC a couple of days a week. It had glass with openings on four sides, and they generally put two people in it. The theory was that people would cue up to the window where you were sitting and ask you questions. I got to where I could write upside down because that way they could see the map I was orienting them to. It was easier than turning it back and forth. They thought that was a great trick. If it was slow, and someone interesting came along, then I might take my stool outside and climb up on it to point out the little bat that had moved into the space in the shingles (it was a squeaky little thing!).

I was sitting out there one muggy afternoon by myself and several people were in front of me. I answered a question for one family, and as the next stepped up, a strident voice from the opposite side of the kiosk spoke up and exclaimed "I was next!" I looked back and her and asked her to step around the kiosk, thinking all sorts of things I'd like to have said to her, the most obvious being the one about the eyes in the back of my head.

I left that job before the season was over, and resolved never to accept a park job in one of the big parks again, and not when a big event is scheduled nearby. It becomes cruel and unusual punishment to treat your interpretive naturalists like glorified road signs. You could get chimpanzees to do it except animal rights folks would be down on you with cruelty charges.

SRS