Monday, July 2, 2007
More Than Just a T-Shirt
I collect T-shirts. They’re the only article of clothing I bother to buy myself, but counterbalancing total disinterest in socks or jeans is a compulsive and eccentric mania for vintage and/or bizarre T-shirts. Last Tuesday, my favorite was a 10-year old Spice Girls shirt. But last Wednesday, that changed when I got my aquarium uniform with the Volunteer Dive Team logo on the chest.
I have never been partial to uniforms, and spent a good amount of time in high-school detention as a result. Yet, I was bubbly with expectation on getting the exact same T-shirts everyone else on the Volunteer team was wearing, and it made me happy to put one on for the first time. I felt that sense of belonging someplace cool, instead of not knowing where to go or what to do. I felt like I belonged among the other volunteers.
At my day-job, I generally hide at my desk in the forgotten corner of the building and get annoyed when my phone rings. But when I was walking around the aquarium grounds and a family of visitors noticed the Aquarium logo on my chest and asked me where the sharks where, I walked them with pleasure to the entrance of the exhibit. On my way to get some fries at the cafeteria, I got stopped by a dozen other people with questions from “Where is the bathroom?” to some kids who wanted to know why the penguins weren’t swimming.
At my day-job, I snarl at people who interrupt my lunch. My coworkers all know this and leave me the hell alone when I’m trying to eat. Yet, wearing that shirt, even on the way to eat, I found myself making more eye contact, trying to make myself available and known, wanting to be stopped and asked questions. I wanted to be helpful. I was surprised by that.
It’s not that I’m antisocial or unhelpful by nature, it’s just that I generally don’t like responsibility. Until, it seems, that it’s something I care about. And I’m finding myself caring more and more deeply about the aquarium with every passing minute I’m there.
Just as the rest of the volunteers do: and therein lies the sense of belonging. I’m the new guy on the block; the majority of volunteers have been there for much longer than the one-year initial commitment.
Not one of these folks who have been there for a year, or two, or four, wasted any time at all in extending their friendship to me. These are friendly, jovial people who care about diving and care about the environment necessary for the sport. Not because they’re selfish bastards who want to make sure they have a place to go on fancy dive vacations; they’re empathetic to the plight of the oceans. They are willing to look at the hard and tearful fact that the oceans are our world, and that when any one porpoise drowns in a fishing net, that it’s one more beauty that is gone from us forever.
There’s a thought painted large over one of the aquarium exits, which I’m afraid I have to paraphrase because my memory is for crap: “The sea depends upon us for its survival. We depend upon the sea for our survival.” Conveying that thought is the point of the aquarium, of any aquarium. We need to educate people on how their actions, no matter how seemingly insignificant, DO impact the entire world. What better way than to show them pretty fish and adorable otters up close and alive?
So these people volunteer their time. Cops and carpenters and shiftless layabouts like me, we spend a day busting hump, scrubbing and scraping and squeegying so that the pretty fish tanks and the adorable otter tanks are clean, so people can see and learn. I was delighted to get the email this weekend that there are additional dives needed this month, and immediately rearranged my work schedule so that I could volunteer for one this Thursday.
It’s not a T-shirt that I’m proud of. It’s being part of something bigger and more important than me or my petty problems. It’s hoping that I’m making a positive difference. That maybe a day at the aquarium will remind just one person to take a minute from their lives to cut up a six-pack plastic, so that just one turtle 3,000 miles away doesn’t mistake it for a jellyfish, eat it, and lose its life.
I am proud of this shirt because I’m proud that there are people who care and that they let me count myself as one of them. I am proud of the uniform.
I haven’t gotten the zippered hoodie I ordered yet, though. Damn it.
I have never been partial to uniforms, and spent a good amount of time in high-school detention as a result. Yet, I was bubbly with expectation on getting the exact same T-shirts everyone else on the Volunteer team was wearing, and it made me happy to put one on for the first time. I felt that sense of belonging someplace cool, instead of not knowing where to go or what to do. I felt like I belonged among the other volunteers.
At my day-job, I generally hide at my desk in the forgotten corner of the building and get annoyed when my phone rings. But when I was walking around the aquarium grounds and a family of visitors noticed the Aquarium logo on my chest and asked me where the sharks where, I walked them with pleasure to the entrance of the exhibit. On my way to get some fries at the cafeteria, I got stopped by a dozen other people with questions from “Where is the bathroom?” to some kids who wanted to know why the penguins weren’t swimming.
At my day-job, I snarl at people who interrupt my lunch. My coworkers all know this and leave me the hell alone when I’m trying to eat. Yet, wearing that shirt, even on the way to eat, I found myself making more eye contact, trying to make myself available and known, wanting to be stopped and asked questions. I wanted to be helpful. I was surprised by that.
It’s not that I’m antisocial or unhelpful by nature, it’s just that I generally don’t like responsibility. Until, it seems, that it’s something I care about. And I’m finding myself caring more and more deeply about the aquarium with every passing minute I’m there.
Just as the rest of the volunteers do: and therein lies the sense of belonging. I’m the new guy on the block; the majority of volunteers have been there for much longer than the one-year initial commitment.
Not one of these folks who have been there for a year, or two, or four, wasted any time at all in extending their friendship to me. These are friendly, jovial people who care about diving and care about the environment necessary for the sport. Not because they’re selfish bastards who want to make sure they have a place to go on fancy dive vacations; they’re empathetic to the plight of the oceans. They are willing to look at the hard and tearful fact that the oceans are our world, and that when any one porpoise drowns in a fishing net, that it’s one more beauty that is gone from us forever.
There’s a thought painted large over one of the aquarium exits, which I’m afraid I have to paraphrase because my memory is for crap: “The sea depends upon us for its survival. We depend upon the sea for our survival.” Conveying that thought is the point of the aquarium, of any aquarium. We need to educate people on how their actions, no matter how seemingly insignificant, DO impact the entire world. What better way than to show them pretty fish and adorable otters up close and alive?
So these people volunteer their time. Cops and carpenters and shiftless layabouts like me, we spend a day busting hump, scrubbing and scraping and squeegying so that the pretty fish tanks and the adorable otter tanks are clean, so people can see and learn. I was delighted to get the email this weekend that there are additional dives needed this month, and immediately rearranged my work schedule so that I could volunteer for one this Thursday.
It’s not a T-shirt that I’m proud of. It’s being part of something bigger and more important than me or my petty problems. It’s hoping that I’m making a positive difference. That maybe a day at the aquarium will remind just one person to take a minute from their lives to cut up a six-pack plastic, so that just one turtle 3,000 miles away doesn’t mistake it for a jellyfish, eat it, and lose its life.
I am proud of this shirt because I’m proud that there are people who care and that they let me count myself as one of them. I am proud of the uniform.
I haven’t gotten the zippered hoodie I ordered yet, though. Damn it.
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