The plan was simple. The goal – to secure a place on a conservation expedition which would ideally pay me to live on a beach and scuba dive for free each day. And not a beach in Scotland or France – a proper tropical beach with unlimited sunshine, an abundance of blue sky, and coconuts growing on trees. The sort of place where marine conservation is important, but takes a back seat to swimwearing and living in wooden houses.
How to achieve the goal? Well, it all involved dropping subtle hints to an experienced marine conservationist under whose acquatic wing I had undertaken some voluntary work a year ago. Someone known for her monitoring of great white sharks, her identification of corals, and her naming of new species. Most importantly, she is known (at least to me) for her acquaintance with the science director of Coral Cay – just the kind of organisation that provided extended conservation projects, say, in the beautiful Bay Islands.
The simplicity of the plan was its stength. Not only does she have a predeliction for drinking and talking, but she was keen to introduce people to each other in the role of mutual acquaintance.
The plan started with military precision – we both turned up with outrageous hangovers at a pub by the river in Hammersmith. Over a jug of fine lager, we caught up on gossip, and decanted ourselves to the lovely Riverside studios. Still on target, we liberally doused ourselved with wines, beers and anything else liquid and available. The plan was well underway, and it seemed appropriate to try to close the deal, and secure a favourable introduction.
By this point, my subtlety had not just eluded me, it had taken the kids from under my nose, eloped with my best friend, and sent me a polaroid from the airport.
“So you know the director of science and research at Coral Cay? Hic. Did I mention I’m keen to go to Honduras to do some conservation? I’m pretty sure they have a research station in the Bay Islands…Hic.”
“Yes, I think I could put in a good word for you.”
“Great, I was thinking of trying to get onto the staff this, hic, time – save a bit of money, and not have to work so hard.”
“We could see about that, if you can remember your training.”
“Oh sure, fish, coral, hic, diving. No problems.”
“OK. So if you were asked, ‘What are the distinguishing features of Acropora?’ what would you say?”
“Er. Hic.”
I think the following pause gave me away, but after a bit of defocused staring into space, and some wiggling of the fingers, I came up with,
“Lumps!”
“Lumps?”
“Er. Lumps with black dots.”
“You spent ten weeks surveying and identifying coral, and all you can come up with is ‘lumps’ with black dots?”
“Well, there wasn’t much Acropora around, I was, I was much fonder of, hic, er, say, er. Fish! Yes, much fonder of fish.”
“Not much around? It was the most abundant coral where we were diving. Every survey you did should have had about 60% Acropora.”
“Er. Ah. Hmm. Yes, well, there was. Er.” It went downhill from there.
I guess I haven’t been for an interview in a long time. But you probably have to prepare, especially if you’re trying to blag your way into a job with very little real experience. And probably not get completely shedded, or choose someone with a lower alcohol tolerance than yourself and get them shedded first. Needless to say, I don’t think there will be any science positions in Honduras with my name on just yet.