I was at the local gym a few days ago when someone tapped me on the arm. It took me a few moments to recognize she was the director of the town’s Adult Learning Center, a free learning annex where adults can learn basic skills, prepare for the GED, learn English, etc. Apparently one of the center’s teachers is leaving next week for “unknown reasons” and they need, immediately, a substitute from now until the end of the school year. She knew of my current career trajectory—don’t ask me how—and offered me the job before I could remove my iPod headphones.
So the next day I went by the place—a set of five portable buildings behind the post office—to formerly accept the position and chat with the teacher to learn more about what exactly I would be doing. As it was technically a substitute position, I expected that I’d be given lesson plans for the next six weeks, something detailed and pre-planned.
Not. The. Case.
First off, the teacher, whose “unknown reasons” must be imminent death she was so old, told me that because she’d been teaching so long, she just “winged it” everyday. There were no lesson plans, no set curriculum, just the dowager herself and a room full of Mennonite women in their 40s who could barely speak English. The soon-to-be long gone teach did manage to tell me all about the coffee pot, though: how to make the coffee, where the creamer is stored, the best place to rinse the pot out. She also took a good ten minutes to fill me in on the particulars of the thermostat. Apparently, it is a persnickety old bat. So yeah, I left with no knowledge but the grim fact that I’ll be cluelessly in charge of these women for six weeks. At least we’ll be well-caffeinated.
I’m kind of excited.
So the next day I went by the place—a set of five portable buildings behind the post office—to formerly accept the position and chat with the teacher to learn more about what exactly I would be doing. As it was technically a substitute position, I expected that I’d be given lesson plans for the next six weeks, something detailed and pre-planned.
Not. The. Case.
First off, the teacher, whose “unknown reasons” must be imminent death she was so old, told me that because she’d been teaching so long, she just “winged it” everyday. There were no lesson plans, no set curriculum, just the dowager herself and a room full of Mennonite women in their 40s who could barely speak English. The soon-to-be long gone teach did manage to tell me all about the coffee pot, though: how to make the coffee, where the creamer is stored, the best place to rinse the pot out. She also took a good ten minutes to fill me in on the particulars of the thermostat. Apparently, it is a persnickety old bat. So yeah, I left with no knowledge but the grim fact that I’ll be cluelessly in charge of these women for six weeks. At least we’ll be well-caffeinated.
I’m kind of excited.
2 comments:
This will definitely be quite an experience for you. And yes, it can't be all that bad with a constant supply of coffee available at all times!
congrats on the job! i really wish i could see you teaching these women. sorry i missed you when you were here, maybe ill get to see you next time. love you benissimo!
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