The View from The Ivory Precipice
I recently sat in the lecture hall where I had, a little less recently, been lecturing. I was there to learn about unemployment benefits for adjuncts during the summer, a topic with which I was already very familiar, having applied each of the previous four years.
Before the meeting, I saw a good friend with whom I had, a few decades ago, sat in that same lecture hall as we navigated the stress-bucket of grad school in the humanities. She mentioned that it probably felt weird to be going to an unemployment session in the very room in which I had been doing my job days earlier. It did feel weird.
I’ve been in that room a lot. As my friend brought in snacks for weary adjuncts, I said “there’s sometimes a table in the closet.” She had already found it because she’s been in that room a lot, too.
In that room, my students had told me, via Greek myth, that I should probably take a break:
Unemployment insurance would make a break possible. I’ve tried this gambit before, though. Some years, filing for unemployment was successful. It wasn’t much, but it let me take a breath before diving back into adjunct hell.
Some years, it just worked. The State confirmed that I was eligible, I’d check in once a week, and a small amount of money would appear in my bank account.
Other years, it sort of worked. The State confirmed that I was eligible, I’d check in once a week, and a small amount of money would appear in my bank account. And then I would be notified that I owed the State the money they had deposited (this generally happened after 4 or 5 payments). I would send money back, or at least as much as I still had after living for a few weeks. This would create confusion and more stress than a Provost.
Yet other years, like this one, it just didn’t work. At some point during the half decade of my annual begging tradition, I had become classified as a seasonal worker. Denied. I now begin the appeal process, which is unlikely to have a positive outcome considering the sheer number of “letters of appointment,” W-2s, and sudden income earthquakes that make my existence in State records nebulous and transient.
The meeting was very informative, though. It was run by a faculty member from the University of Minnesota—Duluth who had successfully navigated the system. If I understand correctly (I don’t), the category of seasonal employee limits my ability to access the system.
This is not the fault of the State. The kind of employment I have, the kind of employment all of the people sitting in the former seats of my students have, is bonkers.
Other educators often have the option of being paid for 9 months or spreading that pay out over 12 months. There is a reasonable expectation that they will have their job the following year. Some kind of benefits, perhaps some health insurance here or a retirement plan there, provide at least a teansy bit of stability.
To be clear, I don’t think K-12 educators or full-time professors (tenured or not) have it easy. They don’t. K-12 educators experience abuse I cannot fathom. I experienced it for one year. The year I taught middle and high school choir, Margaret Atwood was still required reading, not banned reading. I showed up in the choir room unimpeded by metal detectors and the fear of death.
I’m not frantically trying to get the unemployment thing sorted out, but I will. It’s just that I’m tired and want a break.
Meanwhile, in related labor news, my SEIU local interviewed me for a “member spotlight.”
The interview was at Ginkgo Coffeehouse, a place that is very near and dear to my heart:
It’s a minor thing, but it is nice to know someone was watching.
Things I Enjoy
I am writing this on my deck, on a table I built, under a trellis I built, smelling the blooms of the vines I planted. This is a pretty important spot for me and the weather could not possibly be more pleasant. You can learn about the vine monster here:
Just to be dramatic, I think I’m allergic to wisteria (TWIST).
Also, I’m a Virgo is excellent.
And I wish I had read Ted Gioia’s Music: A Subversive History before this academic year. It might have helped with this:
Why Buy the Cow?
I’m always a bit behind, apparently.