My job search started at one of those impersonal job fairs that serves thousands of people, a large percentage of which, I was convinced, wanted the same job that I did. Two friends (both of whom where also seeking English teaching positions, as I was) and I woke before daybreak, dressed in our new interview suits, and arrived at the event center one hour before the doors were opened. By that time, the line of potential teachers snaked around the entry room approximately 12,485 times. In reality, it may have only been seven times, but I can't quite remember. The only image that is still clear in my mind is the endless sea of black and navy blue suits.
The three of us collected the necessary paperwork, greeted some of our friends who were also in attendance, and waited together. We mapped out our plan of attack: visiting our most desired schools first. Emma grew up attending the local city schools and made visiting one of their five tables her priority. Chris and I both wanted to be placed in suburban schools, and we agreed to visit one district's table before all others - Upper Arlington Schools. I had substituted at UA Schools and I was impressed with their facilities, staff and students. UA High School was the reason I was able to decided I wanted to be a teacher.
Chris and I perused the other schools and districts that were represented at the job fair, deciding we would visit UA and move to another large, suburban district - Dublin City Schools. We then decided on a few schools in which we did not share interest, and that we would visit separately. I wanted to drop a resume with Teach for America, the Peace Corps and a couple schools represented from Japan and Korea. Chris was interested in some districts nearer her family and home.
As the doors finally opened, the line slowly lurched forward, and the sea of neutral-colored suits marched in like ants. Chris and I wished Emma luck with the city schools and made a beeline for UA schools. There was a very short line at their table, and the few individuals that gathered there were moving forward quickly. When we reached the table, we were dismayed.
"Good morning. I'm taking resumes, but my partner is late and we cannot schedule interviews until he arrives." The woman behind the table repeated this to each person who handed her a resume and cover letter. Chris and I each dutifully handed the woman our resumes, shook her hand, and agreed to return later in hopes of arranging an interview with the missing man.
By this time, the career fair had been open for about thirty minutes. We hustled over to the Dublin City Schools table. This line was substantially longer than the one at UA, and it moved forward more slowly. Nearly an hour later, Chris and I were greeted by man near age 50, who shook our hands but did not take our resumes.
"I apologize, but all our interview times for this afternoon are full. Please complete the application online. We are not taking hard copies of resumes." He then handed us each a green paper with instructions for filling out the online application.
I felt my heart sink. If we had started at Dublin, then moved to UA, Chris and I probably would have been offered interviews at both schools. The way the timing worked out, we did not get interviews at either. My new light brown suit and freshly straightened hair seemed like a waste. I started to wish I had stayed at home in bed.
Chris and I parted ways and visited those schools in which we had not shared an interest. I visit the elementary academy in Japan, shaking hands with a cheerful American woman. She seemed very excited to have a Japanese-speaking English teacher visit her table. While I yearned to return to Japan, I was not prepared to work at an elementary school. I attempted to drop a resume with Teach for American and with the Peace Corps, but both tables were only distributing information, not accepting incoming paperwork.
Before noon, I was utterly deflated. As I surveyed the faces of the men and women with whom I have studied for the last year, many of them seemed deflated as well. The only individual that still seemed buoyed with confidence was Cara: the youngest student in our cohort, and an African-American woman. As we all sat together in the preparation area, Cara announced, "I don't care, I'll serve a quota for them," referring to the idea that race sometimes plays a quiet hand in career placement.
We sat together, the cohort, a small family in a sea of uncertainty. Who of us would get jobs today? Emma was granted an interview with the city school district. Neither Chris nor I received any offers for interview times, but the two of us waited with Emma for her interview. She had brought a utilitarian and trusted bag.
"Emma, use my bag," I demanded as I removed by cell phone. I passed by black leather bag to her and added, "Take my folder too. There are forms with questions for the interviewer inside." I pull clean copies of the questionnaires to the front of the pile, tucked them inside the folder flap, closed and secured the black portfolio folder closed. I passed it to her as well.
"Remember that time you made me look professional for a job interview? Thanks for that." After knowing Emma for nearly two years and taking classes with her for one, I felt she was a kind of sister to me. In loaning her my professional accouterments, I think she felt the same.
"Make us proud. Someone here needs to get a job today."
Emma left for her interview and returned approximately thirty minutes later.
"How was it?" we nearly all inquired at once.
"It went well; I rocked it out. I answered all their questions well and they were impressed that I had prepared a questionnaire for them," and she smiled at me as she held out my folder to return it. I was genuinely happy for Emma, because I wanted her to get just what she wanted. I felt a twinge of jealously and a small wish that the day had gone differently for Chris and I.
"Now, what can we do for you two?" Emma asked and turned her attention to Chris and I.
"How about a drink?" Chris offered.
A few minutes later, we were back in my car and in the parking lot of a nearby Mexican restaurant. We ordered margaritas and appetizers. We toasted Emma and her job well done. A short time later, the tequila assuaged my and Chris's self-pity, and we were a giggling, happy mess again. We ate our lunch and piled back into my car, allowing Emma to drive us to my house.
I found no leads at the career fair, and returned to submitting and mailing resumes and cover letters. I must have spent a small fortune on professional heavy-weight paper and postage. This lead me nowhere. I literally received not a single call back. I sent resumes and cover letters to suburban, urban and rural schools; charter schools and magnet schools. I posted my resume online with any school within a fifty mile radius. We were told this was a terrible year to search for jobs, but this was getting ridiculous.
By the end of July, I had given up on finding a full time teaching position without relocating to South Carolina, where another teacher friend had told me her district was looking for an English teacher. By August first, I had registered for a substitute orientation with the group that served many large districts in our area. On the same day I scheduled the orientation, I was called for an interview at Metro Early College High School.
