Even before I left, one of the program directors had started demonstrating odd behavior. I don't know if I've ever blogged about him before. I'll call him Wally. He is the Associate Program Director for one of the more popular programs, but not a healthcare program. (I should say was, not is. More on that in a minute.) Some time back, Wally got in trouble for showing pornography to some students. So I heard. Now, I'm sure it was probably done in the context of a discussion on free speech, but apparently the females in the group did not appreciate the educational nature of the presentation and complained to other students, other instructors, and eventually to other program directors. By the time the campus closed in early May, everyone knew about it. We all wondered how and why Wally managed to be one of the three lucky employees invited to transfer to the main location.
Enter Denny, my former boss, also one of the three invited to keep his job. Denny stormed into the office of the Human Resources Director (who doesn't rate the bestowal of any name, fictitious or otherwise) and proceeded to loudly lodge a complaint against both Wally and Wally's boss, Velma, who had repeatedly failed to display backbone, despite knowing about Wally's indiscretions for some time (and despite being thin as a stick). Are you getting this? I know, really?
Do you remember a 1960s show called Peyton Place? Probably you are too young. (I have to keep reminding myself that I am now older than a lot of people. I still feel like I'm about twelve.) Maybe you've heard people murmur in awed disgust, “Wow, what a Peyton Place!” and wondered what they meant. The phrase is now part of the vernacular, and I would say it is synonymous with soap opera, in case you haven't Googled it yet. Well, if you've ever seen a soap opera, you will understand the nature of life at this career college. It was always fraught with drama—I could tell you stories!—but now, according to reliable sources, the place is nuttier than a fruitcake factory.
Each term ends on a Thursday, which means Friday is set aside for teachers to grade papers, prepare final grades, and attend teacher training at the in-service. That was today. Reliable sources have reported (Sheryl heard it from Denny, who may have witnessed it with his own eyes) that Wally was informed this morning that he was being terminated. He retaliated by proclaiming, “I'm going to kill myself!” while walking by an open door to a classroom filled with new students attending orientation for the new term which starts on Monday.
Now do you see why I mention Peyton Place? It seems too deliciously entertaining to be true, doesn't it? Surely someone wrote this script! But knowing Wally (a fellow chronic malcontent who has seriously lost his hold on reality), it probably is true. From my lofty perspective, ten weeks after being let go, ten weeks into self-employment, I can look on the whole sordid episode with righteous glee. Didn't I predict the place would implode!? Vindicated! Validated! Today I laughed loudly and long, maybe ever so slightly guiltily, when Sheryl told me the news. All of which just affirms my conviction that I did the right thing by turning Denny down earlier this week when he offered me three classes for next term. As an adjunct, of course. Should I feel insulted or appreciated that they thought of me when they needed someone to teach the 10-key calculator class?
I turned him down not out of pride, but out of practicality. I will be conducting my faculty interviews at that location. Yep, I am happy to say, I got permission from the college president to have access to the faculty. I pleaded via email. He tersely granted it and handed me off to the VP of Academic Affairs (oh yay, lucky me). While I wait for IRB approval for my revised method, I contemplate the slow-motion meltdown of the career college that used to employ me and wonder what effect all this will have on the perceptions of faculty who will soon talk to me about academic quality. I am going to have to document the conditions at the college for my dissertation. I can do that. The hard part will be resisting the temptation to turn my description into a soap opera. Fade in...
