touchmonkey

DON’T YOU WORKSHOP ME!

February 22nd, 2007

I wear a lot of hats at school. That doesn’t mean I drive the no-hats-at-school nazis crazy, it’s just a cliched way of saying I have a lot of different responsibilities. In addition to being a regular classroom teacher, I’m the English Department Chair and the ASB Advisor. (Note to film buffs: I have nothing in common with Matthew Broderick’s character in Election). It’s the ASB hat that brings me the most grief.

You see, as ASB Advisor I’m responsible for overseeing all of our school’s clubs and non-athletic activities (our Athletic Director gets to deal with all the soccer moms and monday morning quarterbacks). I teach the Leadership class, advise the student council, and pretty much coordinate all the school dances and open gyms and talent shows and assemblies. This means I’m the guy teachers and students and parents complain to when kids at the last dance were shaking their… um… pirate treasure* too vigorously. Or when too many kids at the last dance chose not to dance. Or when the concession stand nachos are too big. Or too small. Or when there aren’t enough pep assemblies. Or when there are too many. I could go on whining, but I’m sure you get the picture.

Anyhow, we had a sophomore class meeting planned for what would wind up amounting to half of third period one day. Several teachers were understandably unhappy. I wish more teachers valued their class time enough to get worked up when it’s abbreviated. One, however, was a little bit too unhappy for my taste.

As I made my way through the halls before school last Tuesday (the day of the 3rd period class meeting) this teacher made eye contact with me and asked if she could ask me a question. I know her well enough to know that my preferred response of “you just did!” would not be met with laughter so I simply smiled and said “sure!”

We stepped to the side of the hallway as it was getting close to the first bell of the day and some students were already making their way through the halls towards their morning classes. When she didn’t return my smile I had a feeling this might turn out to be a Difficult Conversation.

I should take a moment to explain that this particular teacher is one that I’m usually thrilled to work with. She’s an experienced teacher who really knows her subject area well. She’s a masterful instructor who has high standards for her students and works hard to help them achieve. Students grow in their knowledge, skills, and understanding because of her classes. So all that made this next part especially… difficult.

She really didn’t waste time with pleasantries. As soon as we’d sidestepped to the side of the hall, she demanded that I “fix this ridiculous schedule.” I knew she was talking about that day’s third period sophomore meeting, but I wanted to be sure.

“Are you talking about having third period cut in half today?”

“What else would I be talking about? I want to know what you’re going to do to fix it!”

Now, unlike most assemblies and school activities, this one wasn’t mine. It was something the principal was bringing in, but I don’t believe in passing the buck so I didn’t feel like throwing my boss under the bus on this one. Knowing that it wasn’t possible to cancel the thing but not wanting to make this teacher feel ignored, I asked her what she would like to see happen. Of course she wanted it cancelled. I told her I didn’t think we could do that at this late date.

“Well, at least have it at the end of third period so we can actually teach something today.”

This sounded like something I could actually help with so I told her I’d ask the principal about it right away. Somehow this was a mistake. Her face flushed and her volume increased dramatically.

“DON’T YOU TRY TO PASS THE BUCK ON THIS!” Several students scurried past, eyes fixed studiously on the hallway floor. Other students gathered on the periphery, perhaps waiting to see if I was going to get beat up. Spittle began to fly from this teacher’s mouth as she began to rant at me: “DON’T YOU KNOW MY STUDENTS HAVE A QUIZ ON FRIDAY HOW ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO BE READY? YOU KEEP HAVING ALL THESE STUPID ASSEMBLIES THIS IS WRONG, WRONG YOU KNOW HOW ARE KIDS SUPPOSED TO LEARN ANYTHING WHEN YOU’RE ALWAYS TAKING THEM OUT OF CLASS” and on and on and on and on she went.

When she ran out of breath, I waited a moment to make sure she wasn’t just reloading for another salvo. She wasn’t, she expected a reply. To which part of the diatribe, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I knew she wanted a response.

“I understand what you’re saying. I feel the same way when my classes get interrupted or cut short because of stuff like this. That’s one of the reasons we’ve really limited the number of assemblies this year.” I figured this was a decent start to a reasonable response. I mean, she had literally just been yelling at me, nearly at the top of her lungs. My response was measured and careful. It was also not what she wanted to hear.

“YOU’RE CRAZY IF YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME WE HAVE FEWER ASSEMBLIES! THEY HAPPEN ALL THE TIME. A WEEK DOESN’T GO BY THAT YOU’RE NOT CUTTING MY CLASSES SHORT!” She was objectively wrong about all these things she was shouting at me, but I’m old enough now (or maybe I’ve just been married long enough) to know that even when you win an argument, you lose. So I chose not to point out her faulty reasoning or flawed information.

“I hear what you’re saying and I’m sorry today’s class meeting causes problems for you. Can I tell you why we chose to do it this way?”

“DON’T YOU WORKSHOP ME!”

“I’m sorry.. what?” I was honestly confused.. I had no idea what she was talking about.

“YOU HEARD ME, I SAID DON’T WORKSHOP ME!” She was half right, at least.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t understand what you’re saying.” Maybe I should have had more coffee.

“I’VE BEEN TO THOSE WORKSHOPS! YOU’RE DOING THAT LISTENING THING, I’VE BEEN TO THOSE WORKSHOPS, I JUST WANT YOU TO TELL ME YOU’RE GOING TO FIX IT!” At least now she was making sense, if a bit loudly still.

“Wow.. I’m really sorry I made you feel that way, I want you to know it really wasn’t my intention.” Seriously it wasn’t my intention to ‘handle’ her, but then again I’m not sure what she would have preferred… for me to lose my cool and shout back at her?

“STOP IT! I TOLD YOU TO STOP WORKSHOPPING ME! I’VE BEEN TO THOSE WORKSHOPS!” It was clear now that we weren’t going to make any further progress in this discussion. I shrugged and said “I’m sorry” as I headed for the office mentally kicking myself for not asking her to step into the library at the onset of the discussion where the students wouldn’t have had to witness her meltdown. I was also replaying the whole exchange in my head, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong to make her think I was merely using “workshop tricks” to manage her rather than actually communicate with her.

When I got to the office, I asked the principal about moving the class meeting to the end of 3rd period rather than the beginning. He agreed and we made the change.

I know this particular teacher has a lot of stress factors in her personal life right now and I’m smart enough to understand that those stress factors are most likely the true source of her rage, but I’m still pretty miffed at her for such an unprofessional display. It’s been just over a week now since the hallway explosion and I haven’t followed up on it. I feel like she owes me an apology, but I’m not sure that I’m willing to spend the energy to resolve whatever conflict there is between us. I’m torn between writing her off as a bitter old mound of rage that isn’t worth my time and working to build a better relationship with her since bad vibes just aren’t a good thing to have around.

*For anybody still reading and who is still wondering what the heck pirate treasure has to do with dancing, it’s BOOTY.

You must be logged in to post a comment.

DON’T YOU WORKSHOP ME!

Leave a Comment

Categories

Archives

Blogroll

Meta