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Bugs, etc.
Jun. 30th, 2004 03:23 pmSo it turns out my boss for the Smithsonian volunteering is the editor of Entomological News (Bugs Bi-monthly). Guess what yours truly is now doing? Helping edit the Entomological News. Is that cool or what?
I was expecting to label things or file or answer phones or something else equally mundane. Instead, my office is within spitting distance of hundreds of boxes of human remains that belong to the Anthropology department, amber containing the oldest and best-preserved flowers known to man, files on every species of insect known to man, and endless information about anything you could name. I'm going to love this place. I knew I picked the Natural History Museum for a good reason. (Or maybe I'm just strange. Is it odd to hang out with human bones during lunch break?)
On a totally different note, why do strangers feel the need to share their woes with me? Today I was sitting in visitor services in the National Museum of Natural History, waiting for my 0830 appointment to show up. I exchanged a few pleasantries with the security guard on call there, and she suddenly launched into a lengthy monologue about her dead relative's cremation request and the fact that she had to bring a note from the crematorium verifying the fact that she had actually gone there on her day off in order to get paid leave. What on Earth made her think I wanted to listen to her talk about some random cremation of someone I'd never met? I know I'm a good listener when I want to be, but do I have "Good Listener" stamped on my forehead or something? Sheesh.
As I'm writing this, the kid at the table behind me is crying her head off about something she wants. Parents tolerate an incredible amount of crap from kids that are far too old to be acting like infants. How do they expect children to grow up if all they do is cater to their every whim?
When I tutored this year, my boss warned me that one six-year-old boy had a tendency to throw tantrums to get his way. I told her that I wanted to deal with him if he tried it, and she said something like, "Well, I did warn you," before shrugging and walking away. The first time he screamed and started crying, I told him in no uncertain terms that I'd listen to him once he'd blown his nose and could explain what he wanted in complete calm sentences. He left the room, stormed around in the hall for a little while, and then came back in and told me what it was he wanted. We had a conversation, and by the end of it both of us had achieved our goals.
It's surprising how quickly children become both fun and manageable if you simply force them to speak in sentences and then listen with the same amount of attention you would afford an adult. When they understand that they're receiving your undivided attention, they made a serious effort to help you understand what they want. It's so rewarding to have a conversation with a child instead of just an exchange of nonsense.
Oh, since LJ was all wonky yesterday (that's getting really annoying, BTW), my drabbles:
( 14 – Lost )
( 15 – Out on the Road Again )
I was expecting to label things or file or answer phones or something else equally mundane. Instead, my office is within spitting distance of hundreds of boxes of human remains that belong to the Anthropology department, amber containing the oldest and best-preserved flowers known to man, files on every species of insect known to man, and endless information about anything you could name. I'm going to love this place. I knew I picked the Natural History Museum for a good reason. (Or maybe I'm just strange. Is it odd to hang out with human bones during lunch break?)
On a totally different note, why do strangers feel the need to share their woes with me? Today I was sitting in visitor services in the National Museum of Natural History, waiting for my 0830 appointment to show up. I exchanged a few pleasantries with the security guard on call there, and she suddenly launched into a lengthy monologue about her dead relative's cremation request and the fact that she had to bring a note from the crematorium verifying the fact that she had actually gone there on her day off in order to get paid leave. What on Earth made her think I wanted to listen to her talk about some random cremation of someone I'd never met? I know I'm a good listener when I want to be, but do I have "Good Listener" stamped on my forehead or something? Sheesh.
As I'm writing this, the kid at the table behind me is crying her head off about something she wants. Parents tolerate an incredible amount of crap from kids that are far too old to be acting like infants. How do they expect children to grow up if all they do is cater to their every whim?
When I tutored this year, my boss warned me that one six-year-old boy had a tendency to throw tantrums to get his way. I told her that I wanted to deal with him if he tried it, and she said something like, "Well, I did warn you," before shrugging and walking away. The first time he screamed and started crying, I told him in no uncertain terms that I'd listen to him once he'd blown his nose and could explain what he wanted in complete calm sentences. He left the room, stormed around in the hall for a little while, and then came back in and told me what it was he wanted. We had a conversation, and by the end of it both of us had achieved our goals.
It's surprising how quickly children become both fun and manageable if you simply force them to speak in sentences and then listen with the same amount of attention you would afford an adult. When they understand that they're receiving your undivided attention, they made a serious effort to help you understand what they want. It's so rewarding to have a conversation with a child instead of just an exchange of nonsense.
Oh, since LJ was all wonky yesterday (that's getting really annoying, BTW), my drabbles:
( 14 – Lost )
( 15 – Out on the Road Again )
