In just about every line of work, nowadays, there are consultants. They arrive with a brain and briefcase full of ideas and suggestions. Sometimes their presentations are made to a group, sometimes one-on-one. I think it is an honorable profession. In fact, my in-laws are in a branch of this kind of business. They focus on finding successful strategies for health-care facilities. At least, I think that's an approximation of what they do. It always sounds so complicated to me that I'm not entirely sure what it entails. Their business involves charts and graphs and long, well-written proposals. They have to know about medical stuff and life-style stuff and money stuff. At one point, I think they mentioned something about physics, trig, calculus, Euro-Asian history, biology, chemistry, botany, glass-blowing, playing the lute, and using a strand of Einstein's hair. On the other hand, my job is easy to explain: I stand in front of maps and pretend to know what I'm talking about. Every now and then, I have to point at something.
That's where our long-time talent coach/consultant comes in.

This morning, when I am done lowering the overall quality of TheKansasCityChannel.com, I have to sit down with the person paid to try and make me do a better job. I know it's my turn because I can hear his sobbing all the way down in the weather center. Let's call him Eric. That may or may not be his actual name. If you were at all involved in my career, would you give your real name? I didn't think so.

This is how it works: Eric sets up shop in a conference room with a video tape machine, a pile of legal pads and lots of enthusiasm. One-by-one, the on-air folks take their turn. I don't know what happens in the other sessions...I suspect it is mostly positive reinforcement. Look at Moritz, Moore, Gish, Pitman, Flink, et al. They are all perfect. (Well, maybe not Flink but he gets extra points for unreasonably good hair on a man of his advancing years.) When I first started here at 9, I would have an appointment with Eric whenever he visited. Eventually, it became clear that I was beyond help and hope and, then, I rarely was scheduled with Eric, anymore. I also heard that, after each visit with me, the cost of getting Eric some sort of grief counseling was getting too steep for the station to cover. Part of these sessions involves watching yourself on the screen. That was always uncomfortable since I am my own worst critic. Hey! Quiet down...I know you think you are my own worst critic....but I think I am and I'm the one writing this. Well, we'd watch parts of the tapes and Eric always had many good things to say...about Maria or Lara or Donna or Jim or Jere or Johnny or the stagehand who accidentally walked through the weather segment: "See how naturally he moves? He seems very comfortable and friendly, yet professional." Then, he would move onto my performance. Now, Eric, is not a coach in the drill sergeant mode. He's pretty tactful. He would clear his throat. Look me in the eye. Clear his throat again. Glance at his notes. Clear his throat. Then, say, "Joel. I understand Johnny Rowlands needs someone to scrape the bugs off his bi-plane goggles and stitch up the frayed ends of his long Red Baron scarf." (Remember, these were the early days of FirstNews.) Once, I got a glance at his yellow-legal pad and noticed, next to my name, the comment "suggest further education...in a land, far, far away...tell him there are unicorns with bright, shiny horns in the next room, then lock and bolt that door..."

As I mentioned, after a few visits, I was no longer put on the list to see Eric. But, this morning, I have an appointment so that must mean they think I CAN get better at this job. They like me! They really, really like me! Or, it may mean that they're going to, yet again, suggest I find a new line of work. I'm pretty sure I saw someone who looks a lot like Sally Struthers in the lobby. As soon as she saw me she said "hotel/motel management...locksmith...shepherd...data entry...ice-cream parlor operator..." Whatever they try, I'm ready for them. Unless there really are unicorns in the next room.