The Bluff

Wednesday, June 14, 1995

Eight-fourteen. And I’d rather be sleeping, or at least watching the NBA finals. But no choice... I must write. Get it down.

A few days ago, I had told Bruce that I wanted to see enrollment numbers on the 4H’s. My tacit bluff was that if the forces that be can prove that I’m the problem, that enrollment would go up under June, then I’d bow out.

When will I learn to keep my fucking mouth shut?

Third period, I went to dub the last VHS tape (an extra copy of the Open Video Letter) and enter my grades on the Professional Room computer as my only junior still attending 4/4H was taking down my wall signs (earlier in my career, back at PeeVee, I had cut out and painted paneling into shapes of letters, huge, that spelled out "PRIDE," with each letter designating a different idea ["use time Effectively," for example], as well as other motivational/instructional signs ["Be Punctual," "Take Responsibility," et cetera]). I needed to put together one more tape for Kurtzmann, so that I could send the tapes to Kurtzmann and GoD at the D.O. today, and drop off Grey’s tape at the interviews this afternoon. Most of my grading was done, so I could also enter the grades for the Nines into my spreadsheets, allowing me to determine tentative grades (allowing for extra-credit notebook checks tomorrow). Of course, with all my computer problems, including another mini-crash yesterday, I couldn’t open my period one file. I knew Bruce Metcalf had Norton Utilities on his computer, so I headed over to try to work on my floppy there.

When I arrived, I told him of my problem, and he immediately went on to more pressing matters. 4Honors. He said that he received a readout of the 4H enrollment. Seventeen. Too small to create a section as far as the district was concerned... in a district where the class cap(acity) is 39 and the average English class is around 34, they’d want at least twenty--bare minimum. He said he retrieved Cookie Harris’ final roll sheet for the 3H’s earlier this year (terms one and two): thirty students. That leaves thirteen students who were declining to take the course. After two meetings--yesterday afternoon and this morning--Joan, he informed me, was "adamant" that the class fly. And so he was now trying to track down those thirteen students to determine if a change in teacher would make a difference in their decisions.

I stood in stony, stunned, silence.

I looked at the Not-4H list: four names had writing next to them. Two moving from the area. One failed the course, so was no longer eligible to take the Honors strand. One graduated early. I scanned names. One that was not noted was one of my 4H’s this term; this I wrote on his sheet. I did the math in my head (eight students could decide my fate as an Honors teacher) and I sat down at his computer (as yearbook/journalism demi-god, he has computers in his room, a privilege the rest of us peons can only envy); but before I had a chance to run Norton Utilities on my floppy, he interrupted me and told me that five Not4H students were on their way and that I probably shouldn’t be there. I guess that would be intimidating. So I left.

At lunch, I returned. He wasn’t in. So I went across the hall to Aimee’s room. She saw me coming. And she asked, since I had confided in her on Monday of what the situation was quickly degenerating into (yesterday, after reading her own students’ [Two’s] class evaluations and learning that many felt her expectations were "unrealistic," she had even made the quip that she would probably be replaced after one year as the 2H teacher for being too tough... she wanted so to follow in my footsteps). And I told her. All she could do was commiserate and shake her head.

After lunch, I went back to Bruce’s as Aimee and Johnston (both on their preps) shot the shit back in her room. As Bruce ran Norton Utilities unsuccessfully on my disk, he delivered the verdict. Of the five students he had spoken with, three (or "over half," his words) said that a change in instructor would make a difference in their decision). And he broke out Monday’s tentative schedule: two Twelves and three Fours. He reminded me that it was a great schedule. I think he asked me if I would accept it.

To be honest, I don’t remember what I said. Most likely, it was something like, "Sure, if that’s what it comes down to." I might have said that I wanted the Honors. I don’t really remember. I guess the healthy part of my psyche has repressed it. Hell, for all I remember, I could have been crowned King of 4Honors. But I don’t think that happened. I’m not sure if the schedule is etched in stone yet, but I sure as hell can see the direction it’s heading.

And so I headed out.

Back to Aimee’s. And I told them. Aimee looked crushed. Bob looked stunned. Like how I felt. "What the fuck is going on?" he muttered.

"We let the kids decide..." I let it trail off. We took a fucking vote. I couldn’t believe it. "The funny thing is, I don’t think June’s gonna be any easier on them. So what’s gonna happen next year? They vote again? And we keep passing the assignment around till Jason is teaching it?"

Bob shook his head. So did Aimee.

"Tell you somethin’, little lady," I gestured at Aimee, "you better be fucking femi-nurturing next year, or Jason may have your slot in ‘96."

"God, I hate Joan," Bob groused. "This place is fucked."

And we bemoaned our collective fates, Bob blaming Aimee for convincing him to stay when he could have transferred to AcadHigh for coaching and Oceanography, Aimee wishing for a three-way transfer for us to some other campus (like the D.O. would let that happen), and me asking our newly elected union rep about procedures for securing a leave of absence.

"You gonna do that?"

Even Aimee stared at me.

"Just keepin’ my options open."

Open options: two more announced retirements today. Rose, one of the great secretarial pool in the front office, is outtahere. And (drum roll, please)... Joy Sorreno, headless counselor, will not be returning. Just when you think that things are horrible, can’t get any more fucked, and you develop a great sense of self-righteous rage going, God goes and gives you something to cheer (though Bob says I should continue to let the rage build... Ortiz could always take her place as head counselor).

Skip a few hours, and I was sitting in Grey’s office, waiting to assist in the interviewing. I had handed over the Video letter and its cover letter. She had read it, commenting on her eagerness to view the project.

It’s weird, but I almost like her as a person. She can be witty and thoughtful. It’s just as a leader that I think she’s shit. That and the fact that she came with an agenda and I don’t think that agenda was hers. And this, in my mind, makes her a district whore.

The first interviewee arrived. She’s young. A ball of fire. Idealistic. And I kept thinking, "Was I like this nine years ago? Mr. Idealism. Mr. Positive Community. Mr. Innovation. Mr. Not-Gonna-Be-Mean-Or-Burned-Out-Like-Them-Nosiree." Even though she made some off-the-cuff quip to the effect of "I like to set up a nurturing community in my class during the first week, not like--you know--some teachers who start off real tough and have half the class drop..." (ooooh, that stung a little), she’s a keeper. Might do well to take my place, who knows?

The second interviewee was less than dynamic. Not a total wash-out, but definitely just a back-up. The interview was so dull, it was all I could do to keep my mind on the subject at hand; I was too busy preparing for tomorrow.

Which is when I’ll call the assistant superintendent at Lisa’s district to ask about a technology opening at her rival junior high (and my alma mater... ohmigod... I’m not thinking of that, am I?). Later that night, I meet with the other members of the Executive Board of our local chapter of ASTD (of which I am now a member... of the Board... as newsletter editor); here I will network, and begin the truly big project of the summer...

Finding a new job.

Nine-fifteen. Anger has let on to resignation and resolve.