I was called on Tuesday by the agency I'm set up with to go to a school in Hartlepool for a job interview. I knew it was coming because my "handler" had been keeping me up to date with potential teaching jobs here in the reachable (for me) northeast. I knew the interview would be some time in early January because the position was set to begin in February after the midterm holiday. So, no surprises there.
I was told to be at the school at 8:30 am and that I'd have an informal interview with the supply teacher manager on site as well as with the department head. After which, I'd then teach a lesson with possible shadowing of other classroom teachers. Fair enough.
I ask what the lesson would be covering and was told, "it'll be covering the rivers of Britain". So, the night before, I do what little I can to augment what I already knew about river systems. Mainly, just little facts about the island's rivers...which is the longest, the shortest, the deepest.
If you want to know, the longest is the River Severn at 220 miles, running through Wales and England. The Thames is the longest in England proper, holding at a nice 215, give or take a few feet of silting. It's also the deepest. The shortest is the River Bain in Yorkshire, only 2.5 miles...but if taken in terms of the entire island, then that award goes to the River Scavaig in Scotland, with its impressive yardage of 250. I was on the bus, maybe halfway to Hartlepool, when I realized I'd left my river notes at home. No big deal, I have a Google Phone!
To go the 20 miles from my house to the school's door took me three bus rides and an hour and 45 minutes total travel time. I arrived windblown and late. Waiting for me at the reception desk was Mr. C., the supply teacher manager. He greeted me by saying, "You know you were supposed to be here at 8:20?"
Um, no. No I didn't. Apparently, they had changed their minds the morning of and had contacted the agency via voice mail. I was to arrive by 8:20 to attend the staff briefing and then to proceed immediately to the first lesson in order to teach.
"Oh, before I take you in, do you have any ID?"
"Um, not a picture ID. I don't carry my driver's license since it expired."
WHY AM I TELLING HIM THIS? SHUTTUP!
"Well, I really need some form of picture ID."
OH REALLY? I suppose it is quite common for random people to walk in the building saying they're someone who's expected to be there? I showed him my GTC card (a card showing I'm a registered teacher, no photo on it) and my bank card.
"Sorry, I didn't think to bring my old school's teacher ID card."
"Yes, well, shall we?"
Also, I was informed that I would be substituting for a teacher who was ill that day. Mr. C shakes my hand at that point and tells me he'll show me the most important rooms.
This turned out to be the teachers' lounge and the women's bathroom, which I took advantage of. I'd just been thrown a couple of curve balls when I'd been expecting a soft touch straight down the middle. Luckily, there was a little bit of toilet paper left. Shaping up to be a great day at this point.
Mr. C escorts me to Mr. S's room. Mr S is the department head and as I shake his hand, I can hear the roar of the classroom devolve into whispers. "Who's that?" "Is that the American?" Mr C introduces me to Mr S but I don't hear him correctly, accent is funny like that. He leaves and Mr S is left with me staring at him, trying not to smile to desperately.
"So, I'll just get this lot going and then you can take over. I'll finish up with the plenary and then after the period, we'll have a bit of a chat." And like the sound of a gun at the start of the race, Mr S is off. I look around for an appropriate place to put my purse and two coats. It was cold that morning, with a promise of rain. I settle for a spot along the wall and allow myself to feel the anger I tamped down earlier.
And I was angry. I was angry that I was told to do something by somebody I'd never met, without any input by me. By some bureaucratic control freak. Because I was ill-prepared, not only by the agency but by myself. I should know better. It was then that I fully realized that this was not going to be a typical interview and that pissed me off because I was going to be taken advantage of and there was nothing I could do about it if I wanted this job. I couldn't just up and get in a car and leave. I was angry because I'd spent almost two hours trying to get to this place.
Somewhere, I had forgotten I was interviewing them too.
And what was the lesson about? Was it about the mighty small rivers of Great Britain? No. It was about Madagascar. Mr S gave me my portion of the lesson to teach. It wasn't hard, it was map skills. No big deal. At the end, I busted out the bag of fruity Tootsie Rolls and used them as a way to get the students to answer questions as a reward. I also gave a big handful to the four kids who, through the simple assessment, fulfilled all the criteria required for the map activity. If the students have any input on the candidate selection process, then I wanted to stand out. Essentially and quite recognizably, I bought their love.
The class ended and Mr S's plan period began, so that's when we had our informal "chat". In retrospect, I was a little too shiny and brittle, if you know what I mean. If you don't, then you've never interviewed for a job that's in your chosen career and have been out of a job for almost two years. Mr S had my CV (like a resume, but not) and talked with me about the political economy of the school. Basically, I got the insider viewpoint of the policies and procedures not available online. At this point, I'm uncomfortable.
Why? Mainly due to the constant reiteration of how they don't track, but they do track. How they enforce the uniform code, but I saw contrary evidence in the classroom and hallways. How they are a Church of England School but they're an Engineering Magnet. That I might have to teach religious curriculum to those who don't believe. Mr C asked if I used candy regularly in instruction, with a bit of a sneer on his face. So I hedged...possibly, I lied. Pfft. But he did say some nice things too. He said that I have the kind of classroom presence that can't be taught.
Hell, I could've told him that. It's the one of the three things I got going for me in a classroom. It's called "with-it-ness". I'm a badass.
