In Excess

How some adjuncts teach 15 units or more per semester is beyond me. I’ve met people whose workload has been anywhere from 18-28 units on any given semester, and they’re working between several schools, which means plenty of time on the road. I remember hearing about one such person who had done it for so long that he could not afford apply for (and accept if available) a full-time at one institution.

I wonder how much of this is workaholism and how much of it is dealing with economic realities of the early 21st century. Some people seem to have the capacity for infinite work. The larger the workload, the more they keep themselves occupied. However, especially in major metropolitan areas, the cost of living is incredibly high. In order to live in these areas, especially when one has a family, one may need to take on various sources of income in order to keep up. One instructor I’ve known since grad school fits into this category, but he once said something very noteworthy to me.

As a literary person, he described writing as a habit that must be supported. In addition to supporting his family, he supported this habit, which included original writing and translations of works by authors writing in his native language.

That’s something we get into these jobs for, isn’t it?

(Very little or not so great) jobs for graduates

To me, one of the most frustrating things about adjunct teaching is that it’s not something aspiring writers/academics went to years of graduate school for. In the MFA program, everyone I knew wanted to do writing and grow intellectually after the degree, but there was this awareness that some of the more recent alumni were “freeway flying.” Perhaps this term exists in other areas, but for adjuncts in Southern California, many of them put in time and miles on the freeways, commuting between schools. Some of my classmates aspired to get into Ph.D. programs, perhaps delaying the inevitable, while others considered other options. My school got the ball rolling with making grad students a cheap source of labor for the campus, getting them jobs as graduate teaching associates (lower division classes), teaching assistants (relieving professor workloads), and tutoring, which had lower prestige but paid better than the other two.

One time, I got into a conversation with a classmate, and she asked me what I planned to do after grad school. Actually, everyone was contemplating it. Since I hadn’t gotten entrenched with GTA’ships and TA’ships yet, I mentioned I’d probably become a contractor. I’m not fond of doing blue collar work, though I have a great deal of respect for it (my uncle was a plumber). But the idea floated around in my head because the post MFA future seemed kind of grim. Little did I know how apt an idea becoming a contractor was.

Since the nature of adjunct teaching is temporary, it is like having contracts with various clients. Like any freelancer, part-time instructors can only hope the gigs keep coming. One must also make sure that the needs of their clients are met, although they don’t have the same amount of time or resources as the full time faculty to do so.

Although the contractor model is easy to accept, being squeezed for labor was not something the ivory tower prepares its future teachers for. With thirty to thirty five students per class, it is difficult to give students adequate attention, especially when it comes to writing or having them do grammatical exercises. It reminds of when I worked in the grocery store, our hours would get cut, but we’d have the same amount of or more responsibilities. Did any aspiring writer or poet expect to be worked to death once they left the program?

Of course, some people manage to move on to greener pastures. One poetess I knew in my program moved on to work for Poet and Writers. Some don’t land such great jobs. A friend of mine who has a master’s in philosophy (financial suicide if I heard of one) has worked in various low wage jobs. He’s been an usher at some indie movie house, ballpark snack vendor, a cart pusher for Target, and one of those people who works in the dining services at an retirement home. I’ve always been puzzled why he took such jobs, especially since he wasn’t able to pay his student loans on his income. However, procuring one of those “jobby jobs” is much more easier than getting one commensurate with one’s education.

There is something weird to being in such a work environment. If one’s co-workers know know he or she is overeducated, then are they going to feel that person thinks they are better than everyone else? No doubt, they may see the futility of the education system, given the example of their co-worker.

I wonder if diminished job prospects will hurt graduate programs in the long run, especially for the humanities. No grad student enters expecting to be exploited during and especially after their program of study. I’ve known some who have kept their better paying day jobs rather that join the ranks of the used and abused. Perhaps they are the smart ones.

On Nickel and Dimed from an adjunct

For anyone who’s read Nickel and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenreich, the premise is clear. Ms. Ehrenreich (or Barbara, as some of my students like to refer to her in their papers), on a dare from the editor of Harper’s, does an undercover writing assignment in which she gets hired in very low paying jobs and replicates the conditions of being rock bottom poor (albeit with a little cheating).

I remember reading her article on The Maids in Harper’s eight or nine years ago. However, I didn’t take much interest in the issue (or any other economic/job related issue) until I was out of graduate school. I wasn’t interested in such things. I was pursuing a degree that would put me on a path to an intellectually rewarding and creatively satisfying life. Money and job talk were such dirty words. Well, they still are, but they became such pressing issues after I got my master’s.

During my first year of teaching, Ehrenreich’s book caught my interest. I got into part-time teaching, especially with a community college where I studied in my younger years. As much as I liked the school, it wasn’t enough to pay the bills. I soon got some classes at a private design school teaching English Composition, but that only lasted one quarter. Without a car, I was unable to get courses at other schools. The two schools were within walking distance of where I lived (in downtown), and getting to other colleges in the county would take a lot of time. I was also too busy to “work it” to get an in with those schools. The next semester, I only had a class at the community college and none from the private school. I had some financial help from family, but it wasn’t enough. I felt the pinch of being “nickel and dimed” as I tried to use my meager pay and family assistance for to pay for the basic essentials of life.

During the summer, I tried jumping ship to a non-academic job. I landed one, I was financially solvent for a while, but it wouldn’t last too long. Several months later, I found myself unemployed. This time I had a car, so I made the rounds to as many community colleges (including the one I taught at before) where the English Department chairs would interview me, and I secured some classes for the semester. During my time of unemployment, I once again got a bitter taste of being “nickel and dimed.”

Ehrenreich’s book was about the unskilled and those with very little education and how they really had little to survive. One of the realities of these working poor was that they worked several jobs. It would be nice to say that this is strictly isolated phenomenon, but it’s not. The higher education field is one where teachers can have very little and they need to put together a patchwork income in order to survive.

Nickel and Dimed reveals that menial work can be very stressful and mentally taxing. To this, I would simply love to scream, “Duh!” I’ve had a few crappy jobs working in a grocery store while in college, and I can attest to that. Since my return to adjunct teaching, I found that traveling to various school sites, learning and dealing with multiple school policies, and trying to meet student needs with scant resources can be very stressful and mentally taxing. Sometimes I come home from teaching and all I want to do is fall asleep.

Recently, I found Ehrenreich’s Bait and Switch to also be very germane. During my unemployment, I worked the colleges, but I also tried to get non-academic jobs as well. I hoped to get jobs as a writer, editor, editorial assistant, entry level technical writer—jobs which reflected my educational background. During the first two years of my graduate school career, I worked as an assistant editor for the university press journal. In addtion, I hoped my teaching experience would translate to something else. I put resumes on Monster dot Com and some other sites, sent my resume to various leads, and even traveled to some job fairs in Los Angeles, Pasadena, and Orange County. Thankfully, I didn’t fall prey to any resume or job coaches. I just didn’t have the money.

I use Nickel and Dimed in my composition classes. As our economy gets more and more fucked, poverty becomes a very relevant topic. For some students, they can relate to what Ehrenreich discusses, while for others, this topic is light years from their comprehension. I’ve hesitated to bring up Bait and Switch in the discussions or even discuss the pitfalls of being an adjunct instructor (would this scare students away from college altogether?). Ehrenreich even mentions once on her blog that there was a part-time instructor who commuted to his classes from a homeless shelter! Now, that’s disturbing.