The Job Hunter
To Whom it May or May Not Concern but who might possibly consider giving me a job,
I am a Middle Childhood major who is licensed to teach grades 4-9 in math, science, and reading and who can speak a good deal of Spanish when/if needed. This introduction was meant to impress you because I was told this would be very employable but since it’s two years in and I’m still jobless, I am beginning to doubt my sources. Since there isn’t much else to say in this area, I am going to move on to my qualifications.
I have never had my own classroom before which will probably scare you off right away but I urge you to keep reading. If you are a glass half full kind of person, my inexperience can alternatively be seen as an opportunity for you to mold me with your pedagogical best practices and district policies. With a little time and training, I could be an exemplary model of your school’s success. Your own little educational Frankenstein.
I love teaching minority kids and they love me because I’m so white it’s hilarious. Of course I’d take any job but suburban kids bore me, which means I’m the perfect candidate to teach all the kids from the hood at your white-bread school that your current staff stresses over. I can, as previously mentioned, speak some Spanish. Which means that at the very least I can tell that one kid to stop getting high in the bathroom during lunch for you. Also, I rarely dislike a kid. In fact, I love the ones most teachers like to hate. Probably because I think it’s a riot when when I prove to them that they are capable and that learning isn’t always the pits. In my experience, which we have already reviewed is limited (so you’re probably laughing at that line), I quickly learned that loud is passionate and quiet is un-entertained. Aka, a quiet class means you need to kick it up a notch. This means that I don’t expect my kids in their seats with their hands politely in the air, as long as I know that what’s causing all that noise is occasionally math, science or reading. I’m fair and consistent and while at first that means I’m tough, it also means you won’t have a line of my kids waiting in the principal’s office. I can handle my own class, or at least I’ll give it a good one-two before calling the administration squad in.
I don’t think I’m smarter than anyone, but I do like to share my ideas. If they suck, they suck and I am willing to deal with that. You won’t see me pouting over new policies or school-wide classroom management renovations because I’ll be so elated to have a job there’s no way you can pull me down from that cloud 9. If you have an idea that might make my teaching better, I’ll gladly ask you to hand it over. In fact, I take pride in the fact that everything hasn’t always been easy for me. It’s not for my kids either.
I tease my kids but I don’t mock them. I answer every question, but usually with a question of my own. I don’t let my kids give up, but I expect them to learn to ask for help when they need it. I don’t believe in the “don’t smile till Christmas” rule because my students are usually humans, not rottweilers and I’ve found that humans respond better to the Mona Lisa than the stone cold Mount Rushmore.
I can’t promise that my kids will score off the charts when it comes to state tests because I don’t think that anyone understands standardized tests well enough to guarantee results. But I can promise that they will learn and that they won’t hate doing it. I am very reliable and dedicated and consider myself late to work whether it’s one minute or twenty. Even if I have a legitimate reason, I’ll feel guilty for a week for taking a sick day. I’m friendly, the opposite of selfish and all of my friends think I’m hilarious. I also bathe regularly and am not dumb enough to come into work hungover.
In conclusion, I can’t wait to be a teacher and you should hire me. If not today than probably tomorrow. If you would please meet with me in person, I am confident that I can prove all of this to you. Aside from a few run-on sentences here and there and a grammatical mistake or two, I think you can tell that I am damn awesome.
A future Ms. Honeybee/Hilary Swank/Mr. Holland’s Opus/Lean on Me/Ron Clark kind of teacher that you really don’t want to miss out on (Mary Case).
Thank you for your interest in our school. We regret to inform you of one or all of the following:
- The position has been filled internally.
- We decided to hire another candidate.
- Your qualifications don’t align with our needs.
- You’re inexperienced and searching way out of your league.
- We never even read your application because we had 450 applicants.
We have a included a list of things for you to expect as you look for a job in a state that is laying off over 10,000 teachers this year. We hope you find this helpful as you move blindly forward in your fruitless search:
- Intense optimism from your peers and family.
- A frustrating sense of self loathing.
- Regret for the choices you made in college regarding your career.
- Dread over opening you email.
- Part-time, low-pay restaurant jobs and other hyphenated atrocities (like non-profit and worst-case scenario).
- A distaste for the right wing, conservative view of education funding.
- Increasingly shittier beer options.
- Increasing consumption of said shitty beer options.
- Daily resume and cover letter revisions.
- An influx of suggestions of other things you could do with your life that are semi-aligned with your degree. (another hyphen)
- Insomnia and weight loss.
- Fleeting daydreams of moving abroad.
- Premature celebrations over second interviews.
Please reconsider your career path and/or move to a blue state with proper funding for education.
The automated robot selected to respond to the Niagara Falls of applications for this job that is therefore subsequently in charge of breaking your heart and crushing your dreams.