Herstory’s Ashes

Written Tues., Aug. 26th:

Ok, now that I’ve had a day to compose myself from my sheer embarassment as being “Queen Runneth at the Mouth” all day yesterday.  I hope to resign my position of “Mistress of Mouth-Running” by offering it instead to the instructor who I will be sharing an office with as soon as we get the keys.  His mouth runs more freely than mine, and often is mistaken for a trash recepticle.

Yesterday went alright, if I consider what the entire day entailed.

First, I was extremely nervous.  So much so, in fact, that I did not sleep the night before.  (I call this “teaching insomnia.”)  Well, at least I don’t believe that I slept.  I recall something about laying there with my eyes closed, willing myself to sleep as I tried to STOP my mind from running through lists, scenarios, and mini-speeches that I intended to give to my students.  The last time that I taught, at the private school two school years ago, I had “teaching insomnia” for nearly a month–mostly because I not only had school to contend with, but finishing my thesis, taking my comprehensive exams, and graduating by mid-year.  This time, I anticipated not being able to sleep.  Just before bed, I popped a melatonin pill and hoped to be whisked away to sleep.

BAH!

Didn’t happen.  In an ideal world where people are all happy and everything runs smoothly, I would’ve fallen asleep.  This is MY reality, so therefore—technology will not work properly, medicine will not do what it is supposed to do, and things that shouldn’t happen… happen.

Am I surprised?  No.  But, for once I would like a nice dose of “SURPRISE” that doesn’t result in my wanting to curl up into a ball and hide.

I know the professors in my department.  I’ve always had a student-teacher relationship with them–some good and some not-so-good.  I’ve always been an active student.  I like to dominant the class by answering questions and interjecting when I feel that someone needs to.  I guess you can call it a form of arrogance.  I don’t know where it came from, but I recall when it started.

I passed English History Part II, and was taking Part I, out of order of course (which bothered me because I’m a person who does things IN order)… and at some point during that semester one of the women in the class demonstrated why she clearly didn’t belong in a class filled with what meager population of history majors existed.  We were tight knit, probably almost unforgiving.  I was their queen.  I was Queen of the Histrogeeks.  And, I proudly served until I graduated a few years later.

Anyway…

As a graduate student, I was older than most of my peers.  In turn, the professors expected more from me. 

Ok, wait a second.  When I say OLDER, I was only older than the kids coming into grad school straight out of their undergrad programs.  There were many MORE people much older than me who were going into the M.Ed (Masters of Education) program so that they could score higher on the pay scale.  I’d estimate that ALL of the M.Ed majors (with exception to 2) were older than 40.  However, they were an entity all onto their own.  What I’m referring to were the MA program kids, those who wanted a history degree so that they could go onto bigger and brighter things… like PhD or bagging stuff at W-mart.  And, transitioning into the program we were in was easier for those who had just graduated from the undergraduate program.

Now, back to my “extremely embarassing and stressful” first day of teaching college.

I think that I would’ve felt more at ease if I did not have professors constantly telling me how upset I should be for not having an office, a parking pass, an ID card, a “formal” place within the university system.  I tried to brush them off by saying, “I’m a former h.s. teacher, I’m used to traveling.”

I should’ve shut my mouth.  By midday, we discovered that the school had assigned me an office to share with a full-time/full-year instructor whom I had met last week.  He seems nice enough, but is constantly bitching and whining.  I can see falling into that mindset and driving myself MAD with frustration.  I wish I could have another office mate… however, I met the #3 instructor and he is not much better.  I’ve still yet to meet #4, a woman who shares an office with #3 guy in the same delapitated building our office is in.

*sighs*

But, that’s ok.  I’ll have a phone of my own.  I will hopefully have a desk.  There’s no elevator, so at least I’m only on the 2nd floor (of a building that only has 2 floors).  There’s also a little, bity window a/c unit (as opposed to the central air in the main building where my classes are located)… but I’m sure it’ll work… after I kick it once or twice.

Written Thurs., 8/28:

Things were much better and more controlled on Wed.  I remembered my watch.  I was not frazzled or harried.  I didn’t get much sleep, but I attribute that to the whole concept of “teacher insomnia.”  And, by the end of the day, things were looking up.

I currently have a school email.
I can see my office from across the quad, however, still haven’t been inside of it.
I laid the law down for a student who has been late EVERY day this week, the FIRST week of class, by telling him/her that if he/she can’t crawl out of bed and manage the few hundred yards to class, then he/she should drop the class.  Then, I pointed to the door and said, “Have a nice day.”
I also tried to be fair.  Someone left their not-cheap textbook behind on Day 1.  I put it in my mailbox so that I wouldn’t lose it.  Day 2, thinking it was someone in one of my first two classes, asked Class 1 if anyone was missing a book.

Five boys raised their hands.

None of them sitting where the book was found.

One came up to my desk and said, “It’s mine.  My mother bought it, that’s why it’s a soft cover.”  Then… he smirked.

Ok, yeah no.  “Really.  You’re sitting in the same seat as Monday.  I found that book 4 seats and 1 row away from you.  Did you put it under someone else’s desk?”

He smirked.  I think I busted him.

“To be fair… I want to see if anyone in the next class left it behind.  Stop by the office for the morning office hour and I’ll give it to you if no one claims it.”

“Oh, I’ll be there…”

Good.

My second class started and everyone had their books, except for four who are waiting for the bookstore to get more in.  No one left it behind.  Ok.  I decided to give it to Mr. Smirkypants.

My office hours (both sets, morning and afternoon) came and went without a visit from the errant student who only admitted to losing his book after I asked if anyone left it behind. 

I conferred with a several fellow faculty members… and they agreed with me.  It probably isn’t his.  One suggested that the next time, I leave the book where it is and let nature deal with it. ”Personally,” the professor said, “I can’t be bothered with picking up after them.”  Ok, fair enough.  A second swore that I was being too nice.  A third told me that I should’ve just given it to him.  A fourth agreed with me, fair is fair.  If I had given the book to this boy and it was someone else’s, then it would’ve fallen on me.

Next time, I think I will pretend to not see it and let Nature deal with it.

(Oh, by the way, we were all cavorting in the conference room, which I have commandeered and made my makeshift office until the higher powers that be allow me to be a key-carrying member of the faculty.  It’s almost like my way of protesting silently.  The department chair thinks I’m funny.  He calls me a “squatter.”  Then, a squatter I will be.  An enigmatic squatter, I am.)

Anyway, things are settling into a pattern.  I haven’t really lost any students to drop/adds, except for maybe one.  Four or five are begging me to allow them to jump from this class to that class of mine so that it fits into their schedule.  I’ve spoken to a mother.  I’ve had a short meeting with two new students who just joined my class.  I have a cluster of athletes, most of whom have given me their sports schedules ahead of time.  I also have a group of guys who will need to be kept on a short leash.  And, I only have ONE (1) history major in that sea of college freshmen.  One.  That’s ok, my department chair has given me the challenge to convert them into history majors.  I have accepted that challenge, but secretly know that if they decide to say, teach history, finding a job will not be as easy as working at an entry-level position in some company.  But, if I can get them to LIKE history… then we have LIFT-OFF.

Observation of the week thus-far:

Many college students do not know how to SPELL their major.  I understand that not all people are good spellers… however, learn to at least spell YOUR MAJOR correctly.