Wow! The drive to the Netherville Pemberton school was even farther than my husband’s commute. It’s a good thing I started out as early as I did. This school appeared just as charming as the St. Peters school, but it was laid out much differently. I went to the front door and rang to be admitted. I smiled to myself as I discovered the familiar dark green carpet and lattice-patterned wallpaper again through the glass door. I was met again by a young woman and handed another clipboard with yet another ridiculously lengthy form to fill out. Really? I have to go through this again? But she’d already left me at a tiny table, too quickly to question whether I must go through the futility of completing another form.
I took a moment to look around me. I’d been ushered into a light, airy, large room with a beautiful hardwood floor. The ceiling was high and the walls were covered with beautifully decorated bulletin boards, each one featuring a particular area of study, such as cooking or sports. I would later learn that they were “enrichment” classes offered above and beyond the normal curriculum. The St. Peters school never had a room like this!
A pert, perky, not-as-young-but-younger-than-I woman briskly approached me and held out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Linda! And you must be Annie,” she announced.
I returned the handshake and acknowledged the identity as I feebly held out the clipboard, explaining that I’d already completed the form the other day and asking if she needed another one.
“Pfff!” she blew through her teeth and lower lip. “Of course not! The girl who showed you back here didn’t know better. Would you like a tour?”
“Sure!” I replied and wondered when she was going to start interviewing me for the kindergarten position.
It was a lovely school, much brighter than the St. Peters school, not in the way it was decorated but in the use of sunlight and higher ceilings. It would be a nice place to work in, I decided, even though it was so far away from home. Linda took me from one end of the school to the other, pointing out all of the fine features of her school, evidence of the curriculum that was taught, and her personal philosophy of managing her teachers and what she expected of them.
She rattled off the names of the various classrooms, as I struggled to distinguish the difference between the four-year-old classrooms and the “transitional kindergarten.” Then there were full-day classrooms and part-day classrooms through all ages from kindergarten all the way down to toddlers.
“So Pemberton is also a daycare facility,” I tried to reason.
“Oh no!” came the brusque reply. “Don’t ever let Beverly hear you call us a ‘daycare.’ We are a school. Pemberton Preschool. We are not like a typical daycare, although some of our other facilities do offer nursery service as well; we actually teach the children. Beverly is very emphatic about that.”
As we neared the kindergarten room, I saw two women inside, both busily preparing materials for the students, who were to arrive to start the new school year in a couple of weeks. Strange! I thought their kindergarten teacher was gone. Linda brought me back to the enrichment room where we had started and said, “Well, I guess that’s about it for me! Can you wait here a minute?”
Now I was really confused. I thought Linda was supposed to interview me, and this was nothing at all like an interview. I thought I was still being considered for a kindergarten position, but it seemed this school did not need a kindergarten teacher. Just why am I here?
After a few minutes, the young woman who greeted me at the door announced that “they” were in the library and would see me now, and did I remember where the library was? Yes, I did, but who will see me now? I turned the corner into the library and found Beverly seated at another throne and behind her, the ever-faithful Cate, her rotund second-in-command (official title: general area manager).
“Welcome again, Annie! What did you think?”
“It’s a wonderful school.”
“Can you see yourself working here, do you think?”
“Absolutely!”
“Good! Have you thought any more about what we talked about last time, about directing a school?”
“Yes, being a school administrator is something I’ve considered before. I just didn’t see myself in that kind of position this soon. I thought I would need to teach longer.”
“Well, we think you’d make an excellent director, but like we said, we don’t have an opening right now. Just how difficult is it to get a teaching position in this area?” (Translation: How desperate are you, and how much can we string you along?)
Are you kidding me? If it weren’t impossible, I wouldn’t be sitting here in front of you asking for a job. But of course, I couldn’t say that.
“All of our directors go through a period of training anyway, and we send them all to Linda to be trained. This is our largest school, and she does a marvelous job for us. We want all of our directors to learn the Pemberton way of doing things, and Linda does a great job of modeling that. We’d like for you to serve as director-in-training with Linda while you’re here, and of course, you’ll teach a couple of classes for us as well.”
They proceeded to confer over various schedules of classes deciding where to put me. It had become clear that I was not going to be offered the position of kindergarten teacher as I had expected. I was a little discouraged to find out I’d be teaching a class every single day. Not that I mind teaching preschoolers, but how can I learn to be a director if I’m in a classroom that much? Shouldn’t I be in the office shadowing Linda full time? But I need the job, so I don’t argue.
“How much did you make at your last teaching job in Virginia?”
I hated to admit, “$36,000 a year.”
“Would you excuse us a moment?”
I took my dismissal and left the library as they put their heads together again whispering furiously. I had to wait several more minutes before I was summoned once more before her majesty and her lady-in-waiting.
“We’d like to offer you the position of director-in-training, along with some teaching duties, for $36,000 a year.”
I had been hoping for a raise with the administrative duties on top of the teaching, but I needed the job, so I didn’t argue. I reasoned that I would start off at that salary because I was training and I was still teaching, but I’d expect more when they moved me into the full responsibility of a director.
“I accept.”
“Wonderful! We’ll turn you back over to Linda and have her set up a time for you to start. Cate, go tell Linda the good news.”
I was handed over to Linda, who asked when I’d like to start.
“Anytime. I’m flexible. As soon as possible.”
She handed me her business card and wrote her personal cell phone number on the back. “Why don’t you go home and think about it and call me? Call me anytime! If you have any questions, just feel free to call.”
And with that, I was ushered out the door. Yippee? I think. It was a little anti-climactic. I had signed nothing. They had signed nothing. I didn’t even have a start date. Did I really have a job?
It was generous of her to give her personal number, but there was no reason to bother Linda on her own time, so I called her at work later that afternoon. I asked to start the 25th. She said, “How about the 27th?”
The 27th it is.
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