"This is a big shift for you"

I scored an interview today! Second interview since my search began, back in September. This time, someone finally looked at my resume and wanted to know more, albeit for a job that requires a minimum of a high school education, preferably an Associates Degree. Foot in the door. That was the only thing on my mind as I prepped for an ambiguous position at the revered hospital in town. I told myself that I was not nervous. Why would I be? I can be discreet, multi-task and stay calm under pressure. And if a high school graduate is qualified, then I can roll with the best of them. 

I am notoriously early for my responsibilities, and today was no exception. Navigate a ten story parking garage to take a few elevators up, then down, to a secluded hospital wing? Forty-five minutes prior to my interview, I found myself sitting outside radiology picking cat hair off my pants and trying to beat the next level of "Whirly Word". As I sat in the standard institutional foamy chairs, I realized that what I was trying to do was to fit in as a patient, nonchalantly waiting for my last name to be called so I could have a purpose. The horror of inadequacy flared through my cheeks and I scurried to the bathroom to run icy water over my pulse points. Why did I choose a polyester shirt? Skinny pants and pink grosgrain flats? I closed my eyes as the water soothed my wrists and I contemplated pulling the cord to alert a nurse that I needed help in the bathroom. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Four breaths later and toilet paper in my armpits I was heading to the clerical office, fifteen minutes early for my interview.

"We have each applicant perform a typing test. Recreate this letter, using the proper format. I'll be sitting right here if you have any questions."

Thank God for Mavis Beacon typing lessons and schooling in proper letter formats. Nailed the letter, while inconspicuously wiping beads of nerves from my forehead and nose. 

"D is running a little late. She'll be with you as soon as she's out of her meeting." 

Meeting? Do you mean another interview with an applicant who had a time slot earlier than mine? Oh God. If it was another interview, they've been in there for a long time. Deep breathing. Readjust the toilet paper under my arms by rolling my shoulders up to my ears. I realized I was sitting in an empty cubicle, with scant traces of a previous occupant. Pizza menus tacked to the wall; colorful paperclips neatly arranged by the keyboard; a list of in-house extensions, hilighted in neon. The women behind my cubicle were rattling about the horrors of Facebook and their teenagers who conned them into getting an account, interrupted, only briefly, by a phone call to be redirected to the proper department. 

"I mean, that girl who went missing in North Conway last month probably had a secret account, met a guy, and arranged to have him pick her up. And you know, they only tell us about the account they want us to know about. Things just aren't the same as they used to be." 

As a teacher, I have been on the other side of this conversation numerous times and it took my entire strength not to peek my head around the corner and alleviate some of their frantic misgivings. My restraint may have also been guided by my fear of losing my armpit tissues, but I was also curious to hear a conversation about teens that was not tainted by an educator. Is this my new life? I felt a little bit of an impostor, but maybe this is what it's like to be on the outside.

Fifteen minutes after my scheduled start time I was called into the interview room. As she perused my online application and poorly formatted resume (thanks to the software employers insist on using) she paused at my level of education. "A teacher with a master's degree. This is a big shift for you." Her eyes scanned the rest of my credentials, but before she could speculate, I seized my opportunity:

"I loved teaching. I do love teaching. But I am looking for a change of venue, where I can still use my . . . passion. I've never been reprimanded. I've never been late. I am kind and love computer programs and I am respected and reliable and there is no common core or bubbling tests and I am patient and highly skilled in reading and writing and articulate and compassionate and am cool under pressure and innovative and supportive and love team work and am obsessed with literature." 

Fifty minutes later I walked out of her office with a suggestion for a position I had not applied for, and an invitation to shadow. Validation, of sorts, for the skills I have learned while being a passionate educator. Validation that I do not have to sacrifice as much as I thought. Is this the end of the line for me? Never. But it is a platform from which I can finally jump into a promising chaos of rejuvenation. 

 

Disqualified

dis*qual*if*y: transitive verb: 

1   :  to deprive of the required qualities, properties, or conditions :  make unfit

2:  to deprive of a power, right, or privilege

3

:  to make ineligible for a prize or for further competition because of violations of the rules

I'll admit, when I voluntarily left the teaching profession a little over two months ago, I was overly confident that I would have numerous opportunities to expand upon my talents and passions, which would make it very difficult to choose between multiple job offerings. I embarked on a journey towards a radiant identity, fueled by new found freedoms and a deep sense of gratitude for the multiple skills I had learned over a twenty year period working with students of all ages and backgrounds. After the initial sensation of having the wind knocked out of me began to cease, I became filled with a giddy electricity that often led to an inflated projection of my future. Bed and breakfasts by the beach; flower shops; pencil skirts and nude heels with a full face of makeup (including foundation, with which I have an unreasonable adoration and longing for); morning commutes when the sun is shining, versus rising; lunch hours spent picking up dry-cleaning and getting a polish change (heck, just being able to LEAVE for lunch--no--HAVE a lunch!); walking through my kitchen door, confident, satisfied and prepared for the following day. 

I gobbled up the daily classifieds, much of which were filled with beacons from two of our most renowned and respected employers in the Upper Valley: Dartmouth College and Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center. The job overviews with their required qualifications called out to me like sirens from the sea, which means I should have been more cautious to their wily temptations, but when I encountered the following requirements for all of the positions, I could not resist their songs:

• Strong time management.

• Strong reading/writing skills.

• Sensitivity to the needs of differing groups of students. Commitment to a diverse study body.

• Some experience in higher education, secondary school teaching

• Attend training sessions 

• Full participation

• Demonstrated communication skills (oral, written, and interpersonal) with a diverse community of colleagues

• Strong problem solving and organizational skills.

• Demonstrated ability to organize work efficiently; set and modify work priorities; and remain calm under pressure, despite interruptions.

• Bachelor’s degree or the equivalent combination of education and experience.

• Ability to use standard office equipment.
• Dishwashing
• Rotating through all areas of the cafe (barista, cashier, server)
• Receiving and restocking deliveries

• Self-starter with excellent teamwork skills.

• High School graduate
• Associates Degree preferred.

For the sake of the reader, I have limited the list of qualifications, in both skills and education, to the most repeated and emphasized. In total, I have applied to fourteen positions throughout the Upper Valley, and have been gently informed, by numerous employers, that, "At this time, we have been fortunate to have many qualified candidates apply for the position. Although we have found your background noteworthy, we have decided to pursue other candidates." Some of the positions I have applied to have not even extended the courtesy of a rejection, and not one of the employers will elaborate, upon inquiry, how I could become better qualified for their positions. 

Please do not mistake my chagrin as conceited or superior. I am well aware of the economic factors that plague our society at this time and understand that there may very well be a large volume of applicants for entry level jobs. And since I have not just fallen off the turnip truck, I am also quite tuned into the businesses apprehensions elicited by my resume. Although I have clarified my eagerness to embark upon a major career transition, and tried to emphasize the permanence of this while highlighting my gratitude and respect for my former profession, my resume has started to behave like an auto-immune disorder. Rather than marketing my skills, temperament and education as an asset to many employers, my background as a loyal and effective educator is disqualifying me from the very positions where my skills and knowledge are most desired. 

What better way to emphasize effective multi-tasking than explaining how I organized, implemented and executed five separate curriculum during the course of a six hour day? Maybe I could better explain how I remained calm under pressure when managing a group of 120 high school sophomores with fifteen chaperons during a "field" trip to our nations capital, four years in a row. Or maybe they would be interested to know how teaching is similar to customer service when the parents berate us over a grade (product) they are not satisfied with. Would it make a difference to these employers to know how we show our devotion by coming into work an hour before our clock starts, and leave hours after the clock has stopped paying just because we want to provide the very best in service and satisfaction?

I loved my job as a high school English teacher for many years, but was able to recognize the need and time for change before it became detrimental to my classrooms. Fear not, future employers. I will not abandon this ship in order to return to the front of the class, but I do need you to recognize that I, and all of my colleagues, are not defined by the four corners of a classroom. It is time to start showing appreciation for your teachers and prove that this society values our work by hiring me to make a latte.