Refusing to bow to the (almost) inevitable

There is still time for a miracle--but that's what it would take. Four more students need to sign up for Nature in Lit in order for it to run. Since last week, no one has signed up: not a single person.

I just spent time in the copy room copying syllabi and first week handouts for two sections of 101. I didn't want to give up hope to the extent that I would copy them for a third.

But most of today's amusement was about getting adjuncts to cover four classes for which we had no instructor: other adjuncts had been given the sections but declined them--and they were mostly courses that not just anyone can teach. We ended up doing emergency calls to hire new adjuncts. Cathy and I interviewed one person this afternoon--and signed him up on the spot. Tomorrow we'll interview another, and we'll be praying that she seems awake and intelligent--and that she can take the class we have to offer. One class we got covered by a full-time faculty member who was willing to take a second class as an adjunct. One is still hanging in limbo. We've called an adjunct who has worked for us in the past to beg her to take it; we're waiting to hear back. If she doesn't take it, Cathy may have to fall on her sword and teach it herself.

I felt a little bad--but only a little--at my response when Cathy asked me if I was sure I wouldn't want it instead of a third 101. I said, "I hate 102. I hate 102, and I hate mornings. That's too early for me. I'd hate it." ("Oh," she said. "OK. That's clear.") But I really would hate it. I don't mind so much when students are complete idiots about the news articles and op-ed pieces they read (never mind when they read my instructions), but when they are truculent and recalcitrant (which terms are not quite synonymous) about literature, it drives me wild. I also--foolish me--expect them to have actually learned something in 101, and I go screaming around the bend when they haven't. Many of them haven't even learned how to behave like college students, which is the very least I expect after they've had a semester (and possibly more) of English classes at the college level.

So, no: I don't want to teach 102. And it sets my teeth on edge to teach three sections of 101--but at least I don't have much in the way of expectations for 101 students.

I could also pitch a snit about the fact that I've had to fiddle with my Advisement hours to accommodate that third 101--and I did finally say, "These hours will work for me no matter what happens to my schedule," not only for the peace of mind of the Advisement folks but so I could have my syllabi ready to roll with the correct office and seminar hours in place. But I don't like it: I have to do my Advisement hours in three 2-hour chunks, instead of two 3-hour chunks--and I have to get in earlier than I want on Tuesdays and stay later than I want on Wednesdays. Not that I wouldn't be here late in any event; very quickly I will need all my afternoons to stay on top of marking student assignments.

I've been saying that, if I could, I'd change my retirement date from Dec. 31 to Aug. 31--as in this coming Friday. I'd teach my two 101s as an adjunct and call it a career. But I can't, and really, if the opportunity presented itself, I probably wouldn't go for it; I'm freaked enough about the drastic reduction in my salary that will occur in January, so I doubt I'd be willing to stop earning that salary four months earlier. But I am seriously fed to the gills with the insanity at this place--and with feeling abused and devalued by the administration.

As evidence of the insanity of the administration, I offer exhibit Z-prime: today, without getting Cathy's approval, they opened a section of 001 and a section of 102. Remember that bit about us having to drag in strangers off the street (well, not quite, but close) to staff the sections we already have? Cathy slammed her foot down, and the courses were closed again, thank God, but dear fucking God in heaven, what completely arrogant presumption. Cathy said, in essence, that she could do it if they'd give her an emergency full-time line; we have an adjunct we'd love to have teach for us on a full-time basis. (We can give a maximum of eight credits per semester to any adjunct.) The dean said, "Well, that's not going to happen" but then made a snarky remark about the depth of our adjunct pool and that she assumed we'd have enough people to cover it. What she didn't know--and couldn't be bothered to find out--is that we lost five or six high-seniority adjuncts this semester, so we have less of a pool than we've had in the past. This is not to mention the presumption that any adjunct can teach at any time, day or night, any day of the week. (We have some adjuncts who didn't get course assignments, or only got one when they wanted two, but when they are available doesn't match when we have courses, so...)

Argh, argh, argh. Bruce would have threatened to close the classes we can't staff, despite the fact that they are full of students. His favorite line was that he was tired of digging up recently deceased Ph.D.s to full the adjunct ranks. We're not in that boat, but we are taking people without vetting them as carefully as we would under better circumstances.

And there's still that 102.

Well, whatever. This too shall pass. It will be all the same in a thousand years. In four months and change, I'll be free of this madness. I may be counting days between now and December 20, but those days will, in fact, pass, and the worst that might happen is that I'll be exhausted and stressed and frazzled to a fritz for sixteen weeks. All in all, that's not bad. And I do get paid well to do it. So there's that.

I don't know. Color me grumpy. But I'll stop bitching for now and be grateful that I still have a few days before that count-down begins.