Stories From the Work Front

It's been over a year since I posted in here, and most of a year since anyone did, so I'll keep it alive.

I'm now a full-time ESL teacher. That is to say, I have two part-time jobs as such, and no other. And after my first full week dedicated to my new career, I'm ready to give you the behind-the-scenes look to which this community is dedicated. But only in a flash; only in one story.

I teach mostly conversation; three of my five classes are called Speak American (which always reminds me of something an ignorant American would tell an immigrant. It's like labeling your class "Learn Some Damn English, Level 2"), and one is Conversation. The other, though, is Reading I. It's reading in name only - in actuality it's about evenly balanced between reading and writing.

So my students have an ongoing assignment: at the end of every chapter (once per week or week and a half), they write a journal entry. Journals are all the rage in my field, as well as education at large, these days because it de-emphasizes evaluation of the final product(s) and allows the teacher to assess the overall progress of the student at the end of the course. As such, individual journal entries are not always assigned a grade, but rather the entirety of the journal is graded, principally on participation and effort. It may seem a little feel-good new-agey to get away from traditional A's, B's, and D's based on how well the language is used, but that kind of thing is what I use the unit tests for.

Anyway, here's where it gets (debatably) interesting. The journal entries are an opportunity to reflect on the chapter, write about their thoughts on the difficulty, enjoyability, or relevance of it, or to write about something related to the content. For instance, last chapter was about Brasilia, so they could write about a place to which they had traveled and describe it. The grammar focus of the chapter was adjectives, so they were encouraged to use as many as possible.

As you read ESL students' writings, you develop a sense of their linguistic capabilities. You know who will write expressively, but with many flaws. You know who will write relatively short, but relatively good (grammatically speaking) entries. You can even tell who goes over their work meticulously, checking for every error, and who writes in a stream-of-consciousness, sometimes producing entries five times the required length. You also get to know their repeated errors: lack of articles, misuse of the infinitive, overuse of -ing, lack of paragraph format.

So it is that when you're reading an entry that suddenly goes from halting and awkward in language use to beautiful, flowing and natural, your suspicion may become aroused. Alternately, as you read a paper, if the only correction that you can offer is that "your commas look too much like periods" - a handwriting issue! - you may think something is up.

Yes, two of my students plagiarized. So far as I can tell, neither used a resource specifically made available for cheating. That would be silly anyway; I was looking for a descriptive paragraph, not a term paper. But one used a paragraph from a travel brochure website as part of her entry, and the other took his paper completely from an on-line city description that was written simply, but probably by a native-English speaker. Both looked entirely out of place.

Next week I'm going to have to explain to them why each received a zero for the assignment with no chance of make-up, and explain (as my school swears has already been told to them) why this is not acceptable in an American classroom. I make that distinction because this may be an acceptable practice in some cultures. In some, the sharing of information is seen as generous and noble, while the refusal to do so is seen as selfish. "Cheating" is culturally relative, and while they may know better, they may not. It's not something I'm looking forward to, but it goes with the territory.

Preface:
i used to work at a pharmacy as a tech. let me tell you, i will never work with the public again after that job. you may want to think twice about who you take your anger out on when your insurance company screws up. i can't tell you how many times a day people had a nervous breakdown directed towards me or a co-worker because the person DIDN"T UNDERSTAND their own insurance plan. it's not my job to read all the information YOU get from human resources, douchebag! then your co-pays wont surprise you!

anyway, here's why you want to be nicer to your neighborhood pharmacists and techs.
1. we drop pills on the floor CONSTANTLY, and will put them right back into your prescription bottle. but if you are super friendly, i might consider tossing the dirty pills and replacing them.

2. if you are some old cunt who constantly has something nasty to say, and perhaps always complains that we shorted you some pills even when we know we didn't because it happens to be a machine-counted medication, i will PURPOSELY make sure that you are always one pill short. yup, that's right! if you are a nasty old hag, i will take a pill out before i screw the top on. the reasons for this are:
a. it makes you overreact so much, that i want to see you get unnecessarily angry
b. the next person you complain to puts a permanent note on your file that you complained about this. if you keep complaining about it EVERY TIME you pick up your prescription, they add a note that says you lie about being shorted pills. then we are allowed to contact your insurance company to have them fuck with you, or kick you out of the pharmacy all together. hahahahahahaa

Ok, so I guess if you're teaching an ESL class (English as a Second Language) sometimes a student may come up to you after class when everyone else is gone and say, "I have a letter for you to read," and after you figure out that this is a letter for her that she doesn't understand, not a letter for you, you have just enough time to notice that it's from her doctor and it's her mammogram results before you feel your breath catch and you say to yourself, "Holy shit! don't let her have cancer! and maybe this is really selfish, but if she does, don't make me have to tell her about it, 'cause this is only my second day as an actual teacher, and i didn't sign up for this, I'm just here to teach her how to fill out a job application and maybe open a checking account, I don't know if she even knows what cancer is, how the hell am I going to explain that?! I was just showing her when to capitalize 'city' (as in 'New York City') and when not to, and I SURE AS HELL didn't sign up for telling this lady about a 'suspect growth' or a 'spot on the x-ray' or even an 'uncertainty that will require a follow-up visit'," all before you can actually read it and explain to her that she's just fine and try to remember that your scare was only momentary; her's lasted from before she opened the letter until that moment.

English skills are crucial to surviving in this environment. This, among other reasons, is why I do what I do.

I was called "teacher" today for the first time.

So I guess that's also what I do now.

OK, to be more accurate, for two hours a week I'm somewhere between a Teaching Assistant and a tutor, strictly volunteer - in a classroom of disparate experience levels, during the lesson I help out those who aren't quite understanding it. Following the directions I got last week, this morning I took the El to 63rd Street (almost to Upper Darby for locals - six blocks this side of the Tower Theater), walked two blocks north and looked for a certain street address that was supposed to have a double set of red doors. "Double set of red doors" + "Philadelphia" should have =ed "church" for me long before I got there.

Have I mentioned that this is an ESL (English as a Second Language) course?

I wandered about the church without seeing anyone for long enough to make me patently uncomfortable, but as I prowled around upstairs I finally heard people, and followed the sounds into a large room with folding tables and a man reading aloud from a bible to about seven senior citizens. This, obviously, was the reverend, who introduced himself and told me the teacher would be along presently. The gist of his talk (as it really was, not a sermon or a straight reading) was that Jesus wanted them to take their medication, that even in this great country of the best police force in the world security is not a certainty, that they should have their houses in order, that they should pray for their children, and that I would be here to help with the classes on Monday from now on.

Then he left.

I got to know a few people before the teacher showed up and we all learned the names of various American coins. There were eight or nine seniors by then, all from Liberia (as was the reverend), and all refugees. They have been in America anywhere between a month and a little over four years. As far as I can tell, none had any experience with the written language before arrival in this country; the one month lady can't write her name yet. The four year guy, though, is proficient enough in English that we had a stilted conversation. He's been here since 1999, but fled Liberia in 1990. He kicked around other countries in Africa for those nine years, including spending five of them in a refugee camp in Ghana, where, if I got it right, the rest of his family still awaits the opportunity to join him.

And learn English.

Possibly from me.

Hi there...I am currently looking for work in retail, and was wondering if anybody could give some pointers on how to get a job in this field. I've never had to approach stores before and plead for work and i was wondering if anybody knew of a classy and sophisticated way of approaching this.
I spent all morning looking up the phone book, the paper and the net for local business addresses and phone numbers. I figure i'll call the store managers a few days before i bombard them...you know, to give the heads up. I have no idea what to say to them though. Do i come right out when i first meet them with "so...how bout a job now?" or do i ease my in there with false praise and flirtation "what a lovely...suit you are wearing...it really brings out the color of your...highlights..(i have no idea)". If anybody reads this and had any suggestions...i'd be more than happy to hear them.

Hello-

I just started a new community, aboutmyjob, where I invite all of you to post your thoughts about your current or past jobs. I'm hoping my community will help young people to answer that very difficult question "What do I want to be?".

Please check out the description via the link above. If you want to post, there's no need to join the community, you can do so right away.

Thanks in advance for sharing, and helping.

Sing-a-long Wizard of Oz has done some very bad things, perhaps irreparable things, to my psyche. Even with the radio on I can still hear Scarecrow singing. All of the characters, actually. And all of the songs. Wish it would stop.

But the point is this; sometimes I really enjoy one aspect of my job. I know I wrote about liking that I feel that I am a hidden fixture in people's lives as a projectionist, but this is a little different.

One night recently I ran Wizard of Oz and Rebel Without a Cause back to back, and I got to thinking about how people must have received them when they came out - these iconic cinematic milestones. Especially Wizard: I picture old-timey people flocking to theaters in droves, talking excitedly about the spectacle while lining up to go in, then just sitting slack-jawed in awe of color on a movie theater screen. Then I think about them all being dead, almost to the last individual. They never thought of me, never considered me, never wondered how many years in the future would this movie be running, kept as true to the original as possible.

So now I think about that. Is there a parallel? Is the age of technological or cinematic wonders over or will there be a projectionist in seventy years running a film while thinking about the influence it had on cinema as well as its impact on society as a whole? Is that film something I've run in the past decade? To me was it just a "Holy shit, it's pretty busy here tonight" film? Was it even that?

Film preservation as a concept may fall away. I probably won't care about it; I'm not even sure I care now. But I might just be living in somebody's golden age of cinematic art, and I may just be somebody's relic.