Inservice training week is over. Convocation came and went. And I can breathe somewhat easier now that
all my scheduled classes are a go for Spring semester. Now all there is is the nervous anticipation of
what to expect when I return to work on Monday.
The latter part of the semester break found
me in a kind of groove. (A groove for me
is like a rut, just not as dismal.)
We’ve had a let-up from the constant snow we experienced since before Thanksgiving,
and the sunlight through the windows has been a most welcome sight. I’ve
spent my days cooking soups and stews for sustenance and catching up on my
writing.
The past weeks have had a pleasantly monotonous
quality, the house quiet as I sit at my desk tapping away at the keyboard. When I needed company, I would play “Feel It
All Around” by Washed Out on an endless loop.
When that no longer appealed to my ears, I’d play The Beta Band’s “It’s
Not Too Beautiful” instead. Or perhaps Eric Reed’s instrumental version of
“An Englishman in New York,” interspersed with “Poinciana” by Ahmed Jamal.
I’m going to miss this peaceful
interlude. This week’s trainings
included a department meeting, where I was pleased to learn that Snowflake
College was going to tackle the problem of declining enrollment by borrowing a
page from the for-profit vocational “colleges.”
The counseling staff would plan a student’s curriculum from start to
finish with a goal of finishing up within two to four years. (We are, after all, a two-year college.)
At first, this was good news. A plan!
Administrators actually providing leadership! Why, the president had gone to the length of appointing
a task force to tackle the
challenge!
Then came the details. In order to place students on predictable
schedules, the times of day courses are to be offered will be “rationalized.” In
other words, general ed courses will be offered mainly in the morning and early
afternoon while major or career training-specific classes will be offered
primarily in the late afternoon and evening.
That didn’t faze me, until the other shoe dropped.
Paradoxically, it wasn’t the move toward
making students ready for the local workforce that was the bad news. Rather, it was the plan’s effect on the
four-year transfer students which got everyone’s attention. Permit me to set up the background: My
discipline is in the social and behavioral sciences. The “service course” my department provides
for gen ed fulfills the same transfer requirements of the state unis in our
region as a similar course in one of the humanities departments. Students may choose a two-course sequence in
the humanities or mix-and-match one course each from both departments.
The cannibalization of enrollment this
overlap already causes is a problem for my department. And for me.
Treetop, my “home” campus, which programs its own schedule, often places my section(s) on the same day and time block as the other department’s
sections. The campus administration is
quite open about its preference for the instructor of the competing course, so
I get shafted by them pretty regularly.
What I didn’t know before attending the department meeting is this is a
reflection of attitudes in Snowflake’s administration as a whole.
Matt, our chair for this academic year, a bespectacled
fellow about my own age with a dry sense of humor, explained that our
department’s offerings weren’t included in the gen ed course package planned
for the initiative. Almost in passing,
he added a colleague had mentioned that an unnamed administrator had suggested
that our department, even its gen ed course, were unnecessary and that the
humanities folks could do the job we’ve been doing.
Matt’s words were met first with disbelief,
than with a clamor to identify the administrator. Anita, our department’s only other tenured professor,
a lady with a strong personality and a well-earned reputation for getting
things done, promised she’d get to the bottom of this and raise some Cain in
the process. We part-timers murmured
among ourselves as to what the implications would actually be.
We needn’t have asked. Each of us knew the score. The existential threat for us adjuncts is now
two-fold. If the rumor is true, we won’t jockey about to
get class assignments anymore because the assignments will be nonexistent.
This isn’t what I bargained for ten years ago
when I got an out-of-the-blue email from my graduate advisor telling me
Snowflake College needed a last minute hire to teach a class. I’ve covered the good, the bad, and the ugly
of the adjunct’s life in this blog. But
it just seems the stakes for survival in this trade have gotten dicier as time
goes on.
I have my own private narrative for what I
do. As a “freeway flyer,” a part-timer
who divides his time among several campuses and institutions, I’m struck by the
variations in students and institutional cultures. I’ve even come up with a taxonomy not only
for my classes but my commutes. Days
where I start from home in Treetop, teach at one campus (or two if the evening
brings me back to home campus) are “loops.”
Days where I drive to Verdant Fields Community College, forty miles to
the east of home then double back on my tracks to teach at Snowflake’s Quartz
City campus, which is fifty miles west of home, are “boomerangs.”
Boomerangs can be particularly
stressful. Last spring I taught six
sections. Three out of four of my
instructional days were boomerangs. That
semester I drove 550 miles per week.
This semester, all my days will be loops. But that still leaves the question of the
kind of students I’ll have. All my
sections are day sections, which means even at VFCC many of them will be
traditional four-year transfer students.
Even then, I know the personality of each section will vary. The section whose students show the best attitude
and aptitude will be my “Jedi class.” (I’m
not a Star Wars fan; I just made the
label up on the spot one day and the kids were really pleased when I called
them that.) The section I find most
trying is my “Trog class.” (As in “troglodyte.” I don’t share this appellation with
them.) I’ve had very few semesters where
I haven’t had one of each.
The colleges themselves have their strong and
weak points. Snowflake pays better than
VFCC. On the whole, Snowflake students
are better prepared for college work.
Despite its large size, VFCC has a sterling support staff for adjuncts
who do their utmost every day to make sure we instructors have what we
need. The administration at VFCC is fairly
supportive of teaching staff, whereas at Snowflake, as you may have gathered
already, the higher ups tend to be autocratic.
(There are exceptions—the folks at the Quartz City campus are
wonderful.) If only I could combine the
best elements of both and eliminate the long drives, I’d be content.
In the meantime, I hope for the best even
when this is getting ever more elusive.
Now, if only that flutter in my stomach would just go away…
© 2016 The Unassuming Scholar
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