martyrs wanted - apply within

I had a second interview yesterday at a private school for a teaching position. And while I had promised myself that I was done teaching, the need for a job took precedence over actually choosing what the job would be. Who am I to dictate what I should do for a living? Pay me enough and I’ll gladly wear any job title you’d like to stick on me.

The first interview went well. I gave the right answers, asked the right questions, and nodded at the appropriate times. I played the role of ‘eager applicant’ very well. I was asked what my salary expectations were. And I gave what I felt was a reasonable answer. I know what it costs for me to live…and I’m familiar with living on very little.

I did a quick, mental calculation of bills, food, and the fact that gas increases by ten cents every week, then added a slim margin more on top of this. And by ‘slim’ I do mean slim. Not paper-thin, perhaps, but definitely no thicker than an individually wrapped slice of Kraft American Cheese. Enough money to account for minor emergencies, such as replacing a shoe lace if one would suddenly break but not nearly enough for anything more serious than this. And forget about actually stowing cash away in a savings account. Luckily, my savings account is quite used to deprivation.

I gave a number that I felt was small enough for a school to afford, yet large enough for me to survive on. “I think that is a reasonable request, one which we should be able to match,” I was told. I left the building with a time and date for a second interview.

In this, the second interview, I was to teach a sample lesson to some students of the school. And again, things went well. I was feeling confident that the job was a lock. Confident that I’d again have access to a steady paycheck, albeit a somewhat malnourished paycheck, but a paycheck none the less.

After the mock lesson, the director of the school led me back to her office. “I liked what you did with the students and I’m very pleased with everything I’ve seen. We do have a problem, however.”

Problem? I thought. What could possibly be the problem? Is it my khaki colored pants? I can just as easily wear blue. Did I park in another teacher’s spot? I’ll begin parking down the street. Do I clomp too loudly when walking up the stairs? I’ll tiptoe from now on. I was sure that no matter what the problem was, it could be easily remedied.

“You see,” she continued, “I know I had told you previously that I felt we could meet your salary demands, but I’ve decided that the teaching position will have a starting salary of $20,000. This is what I’m prepared to offer you. Keep in mind, however, that we all need to make sacrifices for the good of the students.”

Once again, a few quick mental calculations made it clear that with the salary they were offering, I would only be able to survive if a few cutbacks were made in my life style. Cutbacks that would include either food or rent. Possibly both.

Even more upsetting, was that she felt I should make a ‘sacrifice for the students’. Students that were not mine. Students that would never be mine for $20,000 a year. Students that surely weren’t worth sacrificing food and shelter for. Thus, the official job title was less ‘Teacher’ and more ‘Martyr’.

I declined. I stood. I left. And the job search continues.