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| Oh, stop being a wussy. |
Let me just say that I have never worked in real academia. What I mean is the huge enormo WVU-like stadiums of learnin'. My excursions have all been local and in order to protect the guilty, no names shall be used.
A Question of Space
Most teachers are given one teaching "studio." It is theirs and theirs alone. They may personalize this with photographs, awards and their collection of instruments. This makes me laugh. Me? I have been shuffled, scuttled, and scooched into audio-visual supply closets, switched back and forth between rooms so much even my students did not know where to show up, and generally made due sharing with other faculty who seemed hell bent on encroaching upon my time slot and interrupting as much as possible. Do I seem bitter? I should the fuck be.
At one college, it was literally the Audio Visual, instrument, and CD library combined. The well-worn metal desk, the TVs, the old computer monitors, all this stated quite this clearly: we care about you, dude. Feel right at home. It was fun when faculty came in during lessons and wheeled out projectors and TVs.
At another university, I was shuffled between rooms like a deck of cards. Its seems that no other faculty member could give one inch, it had to be me that was the wandering minstrel. One hateful old bat that taught piano interrupted so much that I literally threw my hands up and said, "What's the use?" I couldn't say anything stronger because of the student's presence. Students are not stupid, at least most of them, and the anger was no doubt written on my face like a billboard.
Even this year, I had to move because the local choir wanted to rehearse. It's nice to know that in these uncertain times, some things don't change. One night, two guys were working on the pipes on the ceiling. No one had told the secretary about this. Therefore, I didn't have a clue.
"Do you like that Taylor?"
One of the workers was a guitar enthusiast and he commenting on my student's guitar. My student answered him politely, a short convo about his guitars followed and we tried getting on with the lesson. After a bit, I asked, "How long do you think this is going to take?"
They suggested about five to ten minutes. OK, maybe they will do their work and we can continue. Then, came this tidbit:
"Ya'll should probably move your 'gitar' cases because I'm about to drain the water out of these pipes."
That aborted that lesson and the one following. Two days later, the room was still being worked on. Nobody knew that somebody at the school decided that "work could go at night because there weren't any classes then." That makes sense, but shouldn't they have found out if any classes were being taught? You'd figure, but nooooooo.
Hey, buddy, can ya spare a room?
Voice majors are all divas. This IS instilled by their teachers. One diva-student was sitting in my room as I arrived early for a lesson. I said hello. And then asked if she was here to inquire about guitar.
During one rather manic and busy period of my life, I taught a three-hour evening class. It was always so satisfying to come to the classroom and find it locked. There, for weeks without change, the forty-odd students and I would stare at each other in disbelief how security would conveniently forget that a class was being taught on Tuesday night from 7 to 10. A student must have had security on speed dial and we'd wait and make conversation about stupid the situation was and why didn't I have a key, etc. Embarrassing and one that was not solved for weeks despite my repeated requests. I love humiliation.
Out of the blue, I got a call from the department head of the music department. Evidently, their teacher had been called off to the war in Iraq and could I come and fill in?
Let's take a detour here and make this sure as hell true statement: when the iron is hot, it is very, very hot. I was in demand by three universities at one time. It seemed like the work came in like a snowstorm and never say no to work. Crazy ass schedule? Sign me up! Out every night of the week? OK! Run from one job to another with an hour for dinner? Yes! Yes! Yes! I love it. More!
I was walking into hell and didn't know it.
The teacher had had only a few classes before he was called for duty, but even so, they must have really like him because they certainly didn't like me. For some reason, the moment I walked into the room there was tension. I will say that, in their defense, that it was certainly unfair to have to change teachers. In my defence, they were pretty hostile, uncooperative, and in some cases, downright insolent.
One had a missing string which took him weeks to replace. One kid was so arrogant, he just blatantly ignored just about everything; often breaking into songs he knew. He had a similar malady in that he thought he was already hot shit on the guitar. Again, an unrealistic and youthful assessment of his abilities, but damn it if he wasn't a total asshole to the max.
I told you he was arrogant, but I didn't say he had cohones the size of Texas. The kid went and complained that I was a lousy teacher to some administrator. This filtered down to the department head that hired me and he and I had a long discussion about this ballsy brat. It's always good to have the chief on your side because I knew that this little moron wasn't done. Anyone who so dicked off in class, acted like an ass and had the balls to say that it was my teaching skills (nearly twenty five years without so much of single complaint) wasn't going to stop.
"I suffer from a superiority complex." He thought this was funny. And evidently had no idea to whom he was talking. My friends and colleagues can tell you many traits about me, but humility is not going to be on the list (I am so arrogant sometimes, I scare the shit out of myself). Jesus. I wanted to nail this little prick to the floorboards, but calmly asked which pieces he was going to play. Three were required and I was waiting with the trap set.
A Question of Space
Most teachers are given one teaching "studio." It is theirs and theirs alone. They may personalize this with photographs, awards and their collection of instruments. This makes me laugh. Me? I have been shuffled, scuttled, and scooched into audio-visual supply closets, switched back and forth between rooms so much even my students did not know where to show up, and generally made due sharing with other faculty who seemed hell bent on encroaching upon my time slot and interrupting as much as possible. Do I seem bitter? I should the fuck be.
At one college, it was literally the Audio Visual, instrument, and CD library combined. The well-worn metal desk, the TVs, the old computer monitors, all this stated quite this clearly: we care about you, dude. Feel right at home. It was fun when faculty came in during lessons and wheeled out projectors and TVs.
At another university, I was shuffled between rooms like a deck of cards. Its seems that no other faculty member could give one inch, it had to be me that was the wandering minstrel. One hateful old bat that taught piano interrupted so much that I literally threw my hands up and said, "What's the use?" I couldn't say anything stronger because of the student's presence. Students are not stupid, at least most of them, and the anger was no doubt written on my face like a billboard.
Even this year, I had to move because the local choir wanted to rehearse. It's nice to know that in these uncertain times, some things don't change. One night, two guys were working on the pipes on the ceiling. No one had told the secretary about this. Therefore, I didn't have a clue.
"Do you like that Taylor?"
One of the workers was a guitar enthusiast and he commenting on my student's guitar. My student answered him politely, a short convo about his guitars followed and we tried getting on with the lesson. After a bit, I asked, "How long do you think this is going to take?"
They suggested about five to ten minutes. OK, maybe they will do their work and we can continue. Then, came this tidbit:
"Ya'll should probably move your 'gitar' cases because I'm about to drain the water out of these pipes."
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| Teach the swine. |
Hey, buddy, can ya spare a room?
Voice majors are all divas. This IS instilled by their teachers. One diva-student was sitting in my room as I arrived early for a lesson. I said hello. And then asked if she was here to inquire about guitar.
"No. Madam Von Diva told me we could have a lesson at this time." When I said no, that this time was scheduled for a guitar lesson, she made her voice-dramatic-operatic huff of an exit as if I had just insulted the very fiber of her being. I was NOT going to reschedule, move or make any farkin' accommodations for anybody anymore. Do I seem bitter? Madam Von Diva is a real life diva, but she was very gracious about the mistake and apologized.
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| "Hi! I'm interchangeable with anyone. Use me! Pay me shit wages!" |
By the time I had taught at the biggest university, I was still sharing an offy with another faculty. In short, I have never had a teaching studio that was mine and mine alone. I am the Fuller Brush man, wandering from house to house, selling my wares. Oh boy. Do I seem bitter?
Do The Natives Seem Hostile?
Out of the blue, I got a call from the department head of the music department. Evidently, their teacher had been called off to the war in Iraq and could I come and fill in?
How could I resist? He asked about several classes and there would be no way I could take on eight students and three classes; not with my already manic schedule.
Let's take a detour here and make this sure as hell true statement: when the iron is hot, it is very, very hot. I was in demand by three universities at one time. It seemed like the work came in like a snowstorm and never say no to work. Crazy ass schedule? Sign me up! Out every night of the week? OK! Run from one job to another with an hour for dinner? Yes! Yes! Yes! I love it. More!
OK, back to reality and the story. The guitar class for non music majors was the first order of business. I got the textbook moments before class and hated it instantly. I had never seen such a bass-ackwards approach to guitar in my life, but thought, "OK. Do the best you can."
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| Don't bust your balls. It's only reality. |
I was walking into hell and didn't know it.
The teacher had had only a few classes before he was called for duty, but even so, they must have really like him because they certainly didn't like me. For some reason, the moment I walked into the room there was tension. I will say that, in their defense, that it was certainly unfair to have to change teachers. In my defence, they were pretty hostile, uncooperative, and in some cases, downright insolent.
No matter how hard I tried, there was no making any headway with these people. One guy didn't "want to learn no notes. I can already play, man." I told him that reading music was part of the class already established in the syllabus by the previous instructor. What I wanted to say was, "Your playing is shit, your attitude about reading music sucks and quite frankly, I don't care if you stay at all." Always, I keep my real thoughts to myself (except in this blog).
One had a missing string which took him weeks to replace. One kid was so arrogant, he just blatantly ignored just about everything; often breaking into songs he knew. He had a similar malady in that he thought he was already hot shit on the guitar. Again, an unrealistic and youthful assessment of his abilities, but damn it if he wasn't a total asshole to the max.
I told you he was arrogant, but I didn't say he had cohones the size of Texas. The kid went and complained that I was a lousy teacher to some administrator. This filtered down to the department head that hired me and he and I had a long discussion about this ballsy brat. It's always good to have the chief on your side because I knew that this little moron wasn't done. Anyone who so dicked off in class, acted like an ass and had the balls to say that it was my teaching skills (nearly twenty five years without so much of single complaint) wasn't going to stop.Finally, it came down to test time. This asshole came in and tried to plead his case.
"I suffer from a superiority complex." He thought this was funny. And evidently had no idea to whom he was talking. My friends and colleagues can tell you many traits about me, but humility is not going to be on the list (I am so arrogant sometimes, I scare the shit out of myself). Jesus. I wanted to nail this little prick to the floorboards, but calmly asked which pieces he was going to play. Three were required and I was waiting with the trap set.
He hemmed and hawed, apologized for his appalling behavior over the semester. All the while, I calmly asked what three pieces he was going to play for this, the final exam. When the doofus could not play a single piece, the die was cast, the game over and his nuts were in a well deserved vice. He tried to win sympathies that were never going to come one last time and then, mercifully, he left. I felt like I could breathe again.
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| Yes, you too can find a rewarding career in education. |
The next semester was a breeze. New kids and a teacher who was there from the beginning. Everything clicked, everything gelled. Perfect. But, instead of asking me (or the other part-time guy who drove from Ohio) whether I wanted a full-time position, I was somehow overlooked for the position. I couldn't have said yes anyway, but it would have been nice to have been asked.
All I got was a thanks for "stepping in for us" and taking the heat for a semester. I did collect a modest paycheck and like all part-timers, I knew I had no future at any of these universities. They use you to fill in the classes nobody else wants to teach and to put you on their list of faculty in their catalog. In short, you are used, plain and simple.
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