Dodged a Bullet

Literal and metaphorical

I had just started my walk home from school, having stayed late (without pay, of course, as I am a daily substitute) to meet with my supervisor, when I heard the kids screaming.

They ran from the corner store across the street back towards the school. One kid lost his shoe in the street. I saw some of the culture (that’s like security but not quite) trying to get the kids into the school.

“Get into the school!” the head of security was yelling. She is a wonderful, brave, calm woman who encouraged me to apply and said she’d love to see me work full time. I work for her when I have lunch duty and she seems to appreciate that I interact with the kids, I don’t just stand there looking put upon.

They got the kids back inside. No one said anything to me so I kept walking. Police cars started to fly up the block.

Apparently some boys at the corner store or near had a gun and were threatening people. Most of our kids have a family member who has been killed by gun violence. Guns are a serious matter.

As far as I know, no kids or adults were harmed. But the psychological damage will be there. How many kids will not come to school tomorrow? How many will be shaky? How many stickers will it take to fight this damage?

I didn’t get the job I applied for. I got a rejection form letter, with a special line added in saying that the team at the school where I am every day, where I’m now teaching a class for a teacher who left (she’s not coming back, say the kids, and they know) with lesson plans and grading and no extra pay or benefits… well, the note said that the school staff really appreciate my support.

How nice.

“When God closes a door, he always opens a window,” Maria quoted the Reverend Mother in The Sound of Music.

I have no idea why I didn’t get the job, but clearly they are looking for someone else. That’s fine. In a capitalist society no employer has any obligation to hire anyone. I work there of my own free will as a sub, they can hire me or not.

The sad part is that the kids keep telling me they want me to be their teacher. They keep asking if I could take the job, and I say, “If I’m offered a job I will accept it, but that’s not under my control dear.”

One kid asked me to apply for the job for next year. I can’t tell him that I did and that I was rejected.

So I will spend spring break applying for jobs. I’m moving out, I think, as Billy Joel said.

Perhaps I am an Old World tarantula after all.