Making the Rounds

As you probably know from reading this blog, I'm in the market for another job. Actually, I'm hoping that my training through EPI and my Florida Professional Educator's certificate help me settle into a career as a teacher. I finished my last assignment for the technology class on Tuesday night. I was ecstatic. The past few weeks, I've been looking for work. Let me tell you about it.

I interviewed at the old alma mater a few weeks ago. Crestview High School has changed a great deal since my school days, but the kids still have an endearing rustic quality. I heard the supervising teaching for my practicum describe it this way: "In Ft Walton, a status symbol for kids is a BMW. Here, it's a truck painted in camouflage." The interview with the principal went very well, I thought. Because of the class size amendment, he was hiring three new teachers this year. All of them would be "rovers," teachers without a classroom to call their own. This puts the number of "rovers" at Crestview at 23, rather jaw-dropping if you consider that schools of the same size or larger student populations in the district have, perhaps, one roving teacher. The principal at Crestview High doesn't want to see another secondary school built in the area, even though my old school is bursting at the seams. He says they'll take out the last of the pecan trees in the yard, shift the parking lot closer to the highway, and build on. Opening another school means splitting students between schools and that equals less funding and less programs. I can understand where the CHS principal is coming from; he was at Baker, a rural K-12 school for years where the kids had few programs and resources. But, still. Once you've walked through the narrow crowded hallways between bells and have seen how this kind of atmosphere affects the students, you think maybe opening another school is not such a bad idea. Ultimately, what's important: programs or people?

Anyway, I digress. The interview went well and the principal was impressed with my portfolio. I talked with him for over an hour, then never heard from him again. Instead, I got a call from the principal at a charter school in DeFuniak Springs. He wanted to know if I'd like to come out and interview for a position. So, I went out last Friday. I found the driveway for the school and wished I could just keep going. It didn't look like the kind of place I'd want to spend 6-8 hours a day: a motley collection of gray modular trailers, a weedy field surrounded by chain link fencing, and glaring hot sun off the gravel driveway. I parked and went into the office trailer. I was 15 minutes early, so I waited. And waited. And waited. Twenty-three minutes after our appointment time, the principal showed up wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Man, I wish I could have been in jeans and a T-shirt. As it was, I was bound up in a pair of panty hose, my official black interview skirt, and a polyester blouse. One of the first things the principal said to me was, "Let's take a short tour." So, out into the 97-degree heat we went. I stood, squinted, and sweated as he told me about the school and its students. I tried not to pay attention to the beads of sweat rolling down my chest. It was hard. And hot.

The charter school there has about 120 students and six teachers. Forty percent of the studnets are referred by the public school, 60% are there voluntarily, but primarily because they didn't fit in where they were. The position they were looking to fill involved teaching health, remedial reading and -- gulp! -- P.E. The principal took me around the trailers and I peered in the dark, dusty windows. It was a strange interview because while he talked at great length about the school, he didn't ask any questions about me, my educational background or my work history. At the end of our visit, I said I'm sure that he would be considering several candidates and would choose the best qualified for the job. He said, "Actually, I've talked to two people, and YOU are the best qualified." Arghh. I was already feeling uneasy about the job when I left. I decided to go home and torture myself thinking about it all weekend.

By the time that Monday rolled around, I had decided to call the principal at the charter school and let him know I didn't think the position was right for me. On the one hand, I felt guilty about passing up a job that would give me entry level pay and insurance. On the other hand, I thought of "teaching" P.E. two periods a day, standing out in the broiling sun watching students run around that weedy field. What did I know about teaching P.E.? I might be ungrateful, but I felt overqualified. I would have to actually give students grades for P.E., that meant coming up with some kind of curriculum and a series of assessments to evaluate learning. I didn't know anything about soccer, basketball, or volleyball. Plus, the school had no locker rooms or showers. You'd go out there and sweat for an hour, come in and teach all-stinky, then have to go back out. There was no gym. Students had to traipse through the woods to a gym that the school paid to borrow. When it rained, the principal said, you turned a movie on the VCR an that was P.E. for the day. Okay, so I called the principal on Monday and told him I wasn't interested in the job.

On Tuesday, I thought I'd apply at the Christian school in Crestview and drop off a resume at the new middle school. I'll write about the Christian school experience in another post; it was weird enough to get its own space. By the time I got to the middle school, I didn't even think I'd go in. I was discouraged, hot and tired. I took a deep breath, though, and went inside. I told the woman in the front office that I'd like to leave my resume and she said, "I know you." Turned out she was a former Crestview classmate who graduated the same year I did. When I passed her my resume, she said, "They're interviewing today. Maybe I can get you in." I told her that would be great. I was on my way home when my phone rang. It was Susie. "Can you come in now?" she asked. I told her I'd be there in 20-30 minutes and started back to town. I think I made it in 15. The interview went well. I wasn't wearing my interview clothes, but at least I had on a long skirt and my arms were covered. (The principal, let it be noted, was wearing a cute little pair of printed capris.) We talked for a few minutes, I showed her my EPI portfolio, and we shook hands. Even though the interview went well, I felt she was looking for someone who had experience teaching middle school. I left a bit discombobulated and discouraged. Before the end of the day, however, I had a call from Ft Walton Beach High School who asked if I wanted to interview for an English position. I made an appointment for 11 o'clock the next morning.

I'd only subbed at Ft Walton Beach High School once last spring, but I'd been impressed. The building is spotlesslessly clean, the halls are wide and painted a pleasant inside-of-a-cloud blue, and I'd had a good experience with the students. This time I was meeting with Principal Tibbitts, who also happened to be running for school superintendent, and with Lynne Shirley, head of the English department. Principal Tibbitts was a take-charge kind of lady. As soon as I walked in the door, she had me spilling my life story as she flipped through my portfolio. The interview proceeded at a pulse-quickening pace. She asked me about my family, and it turned out her mother had once worked for my grandfather. She told me a little bit about the position, but then said that she didn't think it was right for me. I shouldn't be teaching wild 9th graders; I should be teaching literature and writing to junior and senior Honor students! Principal Tibbitts had a call and discovered she was in the middle of missing a meeting. She had to run. But, before she left she promised me she would get me a job. I was well qualified and she liked my family. I thought, "Oh, okay. If you get me a job, I'll vote for you." I don't even know when the election is. Maybe I missed it. Principal Tibbitts certainly acted like she was already superintendent. After she left, I had the opportunity to talk to Mrs. Shirley for a few moments. I told her that I didn't mind teaching 9th graders. I had to start somewhere, and I'm sure that working with the younger students would be a challenge and a learning experience. She was sympathetic and said she would talk to Principal Tibbitts about me when she returned from her meeting. It was so refreshing to find someone who would listen and empathize. So much of a job search is putting yourself out there and trying to stay on your feet when the punches come.

Mrs. Shirley called me later to tell me that they had decided to hire someone with experience teaching 9th grade. Oh, great. I felt lower than a snake's belly. I was greatly discouraged. Then, on Thursday morning, the phone rang and it was Susie from Davidson. She said that the principal wanted to talk to me. I was offered a position teaching social studies, and I accepted it. It's not high school and it's not English, but it gets my foot in the school district door, and teaching middle school kids is sure to be unlike anything I've ever done before. I have a job! Not only will I get my own classroom, I'll have my own building; Davidson has had to move in portables this year to accommodate teachers and students. Heck, that's better than being a vagabond and pushing a cart. Next week, I go in for some planning and training. I'm already feeling nervous about the first day of school, August 3. I'm sure things will work out. They always do. And, boy am I glad I didn't take that job teaching P.E. in DeFuniak. I wonder if Principal Tibbitts got me this job? I may never know.