Disney's training "ice-breaker" activities do little to defrost Arielle.

I sat in my seat, perspiring slightly (which was to be become a usual occurrence within the next few months), and prayed for a lecture and some note taking. I know that sounds weird, but I like “boring” classes that require no interaction. I love listening, and learning through observation. Of course, I knew Disney would be different, but I thought since we had already been through so much that first day, they would cut us a break.

Not so.

“Okay, everyone!” clapped a perky cast member with blonde hair at the front of the room (more like a classroom than a theater). “Time for your first ice breaker!”

I groaned. My least favorite words in the entire English dictionary—ice and breaker, used in the context of classroom activities. Nevertheless, I put on a smile and tried to subtly wipe the sweat from my brows.

“We’re going to have everyone stand up and reseat themselves in alphabetical order by last name—this means go around the room, introduce yourselves, and find your neighbors! You have ten minutes … go!”

Seriously?

Luckily, everyone else seemed to be thinking the same thing, because we all kind of sat there looking awkward. Heather took charge by standing up and cupping her hands around her mouth. Oh god, what was she doing?

“Listen up!” she commanded. “All the A through L’s, over here, M through Z’s, over there!”

To my surprise, everyone listened. Heather and I just happened to have last names with very similar spellings, so we could stay seated where we were. But I still couldn’t help dwelling on what I had gotten myself into when choosing her as my roommate.

Once everyone was seated in alphabetical order, looking a little more relaxed, I tried scanning the room, trying to see if anyone looked as nervous as I felt. No luck. Everyone seemed cheerful and positively giddy. Would I have no one in Orlando with whom to vent over the ridiculousness of Disney ice breakers? How can anyone be cheerful one hundred percent of the time?

I turned my attention back to the cast member at the front, hoping now for some actual information.

The cast member disappointed me again by talking about Yammer, the social media site we had all been using prior to being here, and giving out some accolades. For example, one girl held the record for posting the most amount of messages on the site. Guess who?

My roommate. Heather.

I couldn’t help laughing. We were complete opposites, but perhaps that was for the best. I needed to loosen up.

Finally, the cast member in the front introduced herself as Michelle, the Animals, Science, and Environment leader, and the one who had been emailing us. She also introduced Jason, the internship coordinator, and Erin and Nadine, two other Animal Programs trainers who also happened to be the ladies I had interviewed with.

Erin and Nadine were also on the “core team”: eight coordinators who would be in charge of the Conservation Education Presenters. Michelle and Jason were both based at the Seas pavilion, so I wouldn’t be seeing them much.

After a few more introductory items, she split us up into groups and handed out small binders of information. This was the most important information we would receive that day, as it went over our schedule for the rest of the week.

The first page of the binder had my name in big letters at the top, which made me feel important. It read:

Welcome and Congratulations on your Animals, Science and Environment Professional Internship! We would like to commend you on this accomplishment and welcome you. It has taken a lot of determination, talent, and hard work to get where you are today. We hope you make the most of this career-building opportunity.

The next few months will be very exciting for you. Have fun and enjoy your learning experience. We are confident that you will complete your internship having gained valuable insight, professional development and unforgettable memories.

Well, damn. Now I felt bad about internally cringing at the cheesy ice breakers. This lady thought I was talented and determined, and wanted me to learn and have fun. How could I think badly of an experience that only chose the best, and only wanted the best from us?

The Animals, Science and Environment team also had their mission statement listed on the bottom:

Deliver uncompromising excellence in animal care and welfare.

Inspire Cast and Guests to conservation awareness and action.

Build a united team of leaders who are respected partners within the Disney, AZA [American Zoological Association], and conservation communities.

Champion the wide use of resources to support both financial and conservation goals.

Okay, I could get behind that mission statement. I wasn’t sure how much of a leader I was, but maybe I could lead in my own way. Maybe it was time for Disney to have a quiet, patient, and kind leader. So what if I wasn’t loud and extroverted? I could “inspire” and “deliver” just as good as the rest of my team. In my head, I had a vision of myself singing sweetly in the middle of Animal Kingdom with bluebirds landing on my shoulders, like Cinderella. Then I remembered I couldn’t sing, and this job wasn’t exactly meant for the gentle, kind, Cinderella type.

Continued in "Arielle in the Animal Kingdom"!

Emily's in the Animal Kingdom, too! And that's not good news for Arielle...

The new practice of presenter evaluation involved a device called an “iPaq”, on which our scores could be recorded and tallied up. We were scored on our initiative, level of engagement, accurate information, whether or not we were wearing a nametag, whether or not the bug boxes had a thermometer, whether or not we were carrying a net and using two hands, whether or not we were smiling, and whether or not we were keeping with the theme of our location. We were also judged on how many conservation messages we gave out. Some of my coworkers prided themselves on giving out an insane number, like 15 conservation messages every day. I was usually good with one or two.

Emily, one of the newer Core Team members, always seemed to be the one to evaluate me, and always had something to critique. She was also my mentor. Along with a few other presenters, we gathered together for a morning every few weeks to talk about conservation topics and listen to Emily go over our job performances. She had just finished the presenter internship, and now was a leader—maybe it was just me, but I think she liked being in charge, and it seemed as if the power of being on the other side of the presenter food chain went to her head.

Don’t get me wrong; I didn’t dislike Emily as a person. We got along just fine outside of our mentor groups and work meetings, and we sometimes ate lunch together. But there was just something about me she didn’t like as a Conservation Education Presenter—maybe she sensed my hesitation and took it as dislike for the job. Shy people, like me, are often perceived as snobby, when really we’re just timid. I wasn’t as open as the other presenters, and needed more time to get used to my role, and this stood in the way of our working relationship.

It started at the Asia KDC. I had to open it one morning, and I stood there trying to call people over and participate in the activity. As usual, all the guests were making a beeline toward Everest, and I hated myself for interrupting them. I felt incredibly stupid, and half-heartedly shouted things like, “Hey, do you guys want to play a game?” Before I knew it, Emily was behind me, staring at me. I was doomed. We had been open for ten minutes, and I had yet to draw a single guest in.

She told me in what she probably thought was a helpful tone, but was actually condescending, different ways I could entice people to join me. Also, she didn’t like the word “game”. I tried her suggestions, but at the time all I wanted to do was hide under a rock. I knew if she had caught me at anywhere but Asia, I would have impressed her.

Even if she had just given me advice and then left me alone, I would have done better. But Asia was my weak spot, and I felt like she knew it. She continued to stand there, and I got a zero from her for not being able to draw in any guests. I felt terrible—just because I wasn’t loud didn’t mean I was a bad cast member! I had the whole day ahead of me, but all I wanted to do that morning was go home and cry.

Funnily enough, I was later evaluated at the Discovery Island KDC at the same time—morning opening. This time I had Stephanie, an older woman on Core Team, judging me. She had been doing this gig a while, and she slightly intimidated me—she was a lot like Heather, though, where all it took was getting to know her.

I successfully called over a family standing about five feet away, letting my voice carry loud and clear toward the “It’s Tough to Be a Bug,” exit. I gestured animatedly toward the bug boxes, and the family came right over. Stephanie looked at me proudly.

“Wow,” she said. “If I could give you a ten for that, I would.”

Her praise meant the world to me, especially after my disastrous morning with Emily at Asia. I wished she would tell Emily how well I had done, and I wished Stephanie could be my mentor instead. Stephanie didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with the way I did things.

However, it wasn’t just the “carnival barking” that Emily didn’t like about me. She critiqued my crocodile facts over at DinoLand, telling me how wrong I was about certain things (which, of course, I corrected myself on, but she didn’t have to be so mean); she critiqued me at the Africa KDC for telling kids the “poop” was fake; she critiqued me in the morning at the main entrance, holding my bug box, telling me she had been watching me for ten minutes and hadn’t heard me say a single conservation message (a big no-no). It was always her, and I never felt she gave me any encouragement. Sometimes I thought I was being too sensitive, and other times I was sure she just had it out for me. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but I mean, just give me a chance!

I never felt right forcing conservation messages on guests, unless the discussion came up naturally. I later learned that a few fellow presenters felt the same way as I did, but there was no choice—we had to lay down the conservation facts, which could sometimes turn a conversation awkward.

One day, Emily watched me as I chatted with a guest about her time at the park, and her vacation. This guest was alone, waiting for her family members to meet up with her, and just wanted someone to talk to. How was I supposed to interrupt her and say, “That’s great, but I must remind you to learn more about these animals when you get home!” or “I know you just asked me a question about park hours, but I really have to tell you about these amazing bamboo products!” It was one thing if we were in the middle of a Kid’s Club activity or an animal spiel, but other than that it just felt wrong.

To be fair, after I got my evaluation scores at the mentor meetings, I did get some nice comments from Emily and the other Core Team ladies. Emily wrote “great information and conversation!” while I was at the flamingos one day, and “awesome information on the siamangs!” while I was in Asia. It was sad that I always had to read these on paper, and didn’t hear it from Emily at the time, but it was still nice to see. During the internship, my scores on initiating guest interaction only grew higher.

Another unpleasant surprise happened one day at the white-cheeked gibbon exhibit. A guest dropped his baby daughter’s pacifier in the dirty water inside of the exhibit. Instead of just buying a new one, he wanted it retrieved, and so I called an animal keeper to come to the gibbon enclosure. I had to call a keeper anyway (objects dropped from guests can be harmful to the apes if they try to eat them), but the dad watching me and waiting with me while the keeper was on her way made it ten times more awkward.

Naturally, this happened just before I was supposed to go on my lunch break. I didn’t have to relieve anyone, and nobody else was scheduled to bump me out (animal positions differ from KDCs in that they don’t always have to be staffed). I couldn’t leave the guest alone, so I spent my lunch break waiting for the keeper. The keeper took forever, and the guest didn’t seem too happy to be kept waiting so long. I wondered why he would want the pacifier back after it was in dirty ape water, but I didn’t ask.

Finally, the keeper came and retrieved the pacifier for him (the keepers always seemed annoyed at having to do this, for some reason). The guest left with nary a thank-you, and I didn’t have time left for my break, so I went to my next position, dying for a few minutes to sit and rest my voice.

That was another thing about being a presenter—your voice was always raspy from so much talking. We talked to hundreds of people everyday, with barely any breaks in between. Any time you spent at a position not talking was an opportunity wasted. Tea and honey were my best friends throughout the semester.

I had the bad luck of encountering guests who always lost something in an animal exhibit. During my time as a presenter, I had the lady who lost her sunglasses in the otter pool, the pacifier guy, and a little girl who dropped her shoes in the ape water right before park close, and right as Emily was evaluating me. Oh, well, at least Emily got to see me go through the proper procedures of what to do when a guest lost something near an animal, but still, this always seemed to happen to me, and it always had to with smelly, dirty water.

Continued in "Arielle in the Animal Kingdom"!