Job Seeker

            Recently I was standing in the office at a favorite elementary school when I overheard the principal. Her voice retained that calm, in-charge air as she mentioned that Mrs. Someone had just called in sick; she needed someone to fill in until a sub arrived.

            Helpful School Person is in my bones so I asked if they just needed a warm body. They know that I am a retired teacher. I had dropped by to volunteer in a dynamic 4^th grade classroom but could easily stop into a different location.

            “Are you a registered substitute?” she asked.

            “Well, no.”

            “Oh, I wish you were (She’s a former English teacher, I’m sure.) We can only use you if you are on the official list.”

            Hmmmm. Well, that’s too bad. I believe the principal spent part of her very busy morning filling in at that room.

            And then thought I: why not get on the official list? I have one day a week when I come here and help out. I could actually substitute. They say they are always short on subs.

            So I made one of my typical, lightening quick decisions. “I’ll do it!” They sent me to the administration building to pick up an application. And with that goal in sight, had I known all hoops that lay ahead, would I have proceeded? I mean, I AM retired. I really don’t need to fill my day with --- you’ll excuse the expression ---work.

            I was unprepared for today’s job application process, much more complicated than when I applied in 1973 to the job from which I retired 40 years later. I also believe that the state of Texas layers on a few extra steps because, well,  just because.

            Here’s the thing: I have never really had to deal with much in the way of bureaucracy. Things were simpler in the past. I know they were.

            I attended Wheaton College, a small liberal arts school in suburban Chicago. Whatever complications one might face in a larger institution were all handled by a lovely woman named  M. Loving.

            She was the bursar; she was the registrar. It was to her window you came to pay your bill, take money out of your college bank account, complain about your dorm, just about everything.

            I didn’t think much about this as it was all I knew. Years later when I was earning advanced credits at Ball State, I was amazed that there was an entire hallway with many many offices for folks doing what M Loving did at Wheaton.

            When Kokomo Schools hired me, there was little in the way of orientation. You needed to know which color passes were for what drama. You needed to know who to call for a few, a very few, items. Mainly, they handed me some books and pointed me to a room which, by the way, was far removed from the rest of the English department. I dug in, in my little basement cave across the hall from boilers and a science classroom. Occasionally someone would pop in to see how I was doing, as in they asked me.

            Eventually, I began to learn the craft and the art. If any readers were with me in the Miss Hayes days, you were my guinea pigs. Such was education in the early 70’s.

            The first 5 years were a blur for me, with getting married, getting my MA, moving twice and teaching new classes. And then things settled down. I vaguely remember that for several years, I did pretty much the same thing each year. Ah but changes were afoot.

            Not only did legislatures begin tinkering with curriculum. Indiana and the Federal government began passing laws that they thought made school better. Don’t know. But at my school, rather than tasking us with laborious explanations, we would get a little note informing us to now DO something or STOP DOING something.

            For example, like all teachers, I had a personal stash of Tylenol and cough drops in my desk. If a student asked, of course I could hand over a pill or two. I mean, had they been guests in my home and needed some headache medicine, I would give it to them. But no. We were to stop doing this. I remember the note:

            Attention. You are not a trained medical professional. Only a trained medical professional may administer medications.

            Ok. Filed that one away.

            Another: Please remember that you are not to be alone in your classroom with a student unless your door is open all the way. A better choice is to talk to student in the hallway.       

            Hmmmm. As I sometimes WOULD talk to a student alone in my room, I asked for an explanation. I was so blissfully naïve. It took some time for me to recover from what they thought they were protecting me from.

            There were others. I would take note and either stop doing something or start doing something.  

            Later in the career educational specialists paraded through, each with his personal book and his personal method for Finally Fixing Education. Some administrator bought those books for each of us and we would spend at least a day listening to the latest fix; then we would incorporate until the next guy showed up. When I retired, by the way, I had 15 such books.

            Being out of the job market for a few years, I found quite a few requirements I had to meet if I wanted to be a sub.

            First, of course, the only way to apply is “on line.” There is no hard copy option. This was a multi-paged document where I got to relive my work life with addresses and phone numbers and such. I needed non-related folks to speak for me so I had to pursue that. I needed their addresses and numbers and such.

            (Couldn’t I just show you my ancient, lifetime license? Nope) (And anyway, it’s from Indiana, not Texas. Don’t mess with Texas!!)

            Sad to say, remembering that I am not all that young, it took a lot to get this finished and sent to the correct person. Let’s just say, THAT wasn’t obvious.

            I was greeted with a cheery email telling me that I must come to an orientation session (date time) and that this was a requirement. Well, that’s great. I would expect it.

            But here’s how things have really changed in 40 years (!!) I sat through 10 sessions of on-line training. Each session lasted at least 30 minutes, had multiple sections and ended with a test. I had to score at least 85% on each test. If I did not, not only did someone see that I was a dolt, I would need to log into the special remedial area to get remediated and then return to the session.

            My. Really? Yes.

So, over the Christmas holidays, I plowed through lessons on

bullying, drug awareness, sexual harassment, privacy of student records, and the handling of pathogens. First session, I was not paying close attention (!) and scored 85% on the test. The old school thing never dies so after that I took notes and aced the rest. Ta Da.

            At my previous position we’d get handouts and notes but nothing this elaborate. Early in the blood born pathogen saga, I remember that teachers were expected to clean up various spills in their rooms. They handed out kits. No longer. We call in the HAZMAT-suited custodians. Got it.

            Before student privacy laws, if I wanted to dig into a student’s records all I had to do was sign a sheet of paper, walk into the vault and have at it. No longer.

            The third requirement is a background check that includes getting fingerprinted. Here’s where the adventure REALLY took off.

            My potential employers, after noting my quasi-stellar performance on the various tests, assigned a 13-digit number to me. Using this, I logged into a special site to schedule my fingerprinting appointment. I also needed the 13-digit number that identified the school system plus another, this one only 10, that identified the job I sought.

            Once the site admitted me, I got to tell them all about myself --- weight, height, mother’s maiden name, current and past addresses. Then I was to schedule an appointment at a state approved fingerprinting site. Check.

            I found one in a city that I thought was nearby and clicked a time.  Ok. Ready. Except I didn’t notice this tiny little box way down past lots of info that asked me if I wanted to reconsider sending in all this hot information to the State of Texas. As I did NOT click Yes or No, the site kicked me to the curb. However, it did not let me know.

            Google Earth helped me locate the address. It was way out in the country at a blank intersection of several fields. No building, not even a trailer. Huh. With faith in Ms. Garman, I drove out there, through fields reminiscent of Indiana after harvest. Blank, flat.  At the exact site, a hand-painted sign direct me to turn right and follow the flags that lined the dirt road., which ended at a shooting range/fingerprint center. Amid exploding clay pigeons, I exited the car and walked into the double wide.

            Upon several discussions, I found that in the State of Texas, fingerprinting and, I guess, background checks, are handled in the same places you buy guns and learn to shoot guns. And most of these places are out in the boonies so your rowdy target practice only startles horses and steers.

             I found that I was NOT in the system and would have to reschedule.  “But not today,” said the official State of Texas Fingerprint Lady.

            Frustrated. Eye rolling for sure. Reminding myself that all I wanted to do was help out. But I had come so far. I was determined to see this through.  On line, I re-entered the registration site and to my slight enjoyment, I saw that those multiple number log-ins were still there. Then I noted that tiny little space that I had missed before. Couldn’t they make it BIGGER? RED? FLASHING?

            Rescheduled a week later, I made it out to the site again, got my fingerprints printed and my checkmarks checked.

            No big surprise, I have passed my background check. Next up is the mandatory orientation for this school and I will be able to substitute.

            I have recorded that 1) I am retired and 2) blissfully unconnected with the hard work that teaching is, so this may be a short career.