Envy

The other day I was in the smoking room at one of my universities, and was chatting with a Japanese teacher. I wasn't sure if he was part-time or tenured. I was thinking, as we chatted, that giving up smoking would be a bad idea at this place, because they segregate the 'serious' academics (those with tenure, mostly Japanese) and the part-timers (the rest of us) so efficiently that we would never meet otherwise. Part-timers aren't supposed to be told stuff. We are not included. We never know what is going on. 'They' like it that way.

I wondered if this guy was tenured or not, and waited for an opportunity to find out without asking directly.

We were talking about our first week back at work. He asked me how many classes I had in a week.

"Seventeen," I said.

He actually jumped.

"Oh, that's a lot," he said.

"The first week is particularly hard," I answered. "It's a shock after the vacation. And how about you? How many classes do you have?"

He hesitated. Then he blushed. Then he started stammering. Then he started apologizing. It was obvious he had not expected this question, and it was equally obvious, before he even answered, that I was supposed to KNOW that he was tenured and that lowly untenured teachers are not supposed to ask questions like that. But he was too young to know how to fob me off with a fuzzy answer and I continued to look brightly interested and innocent.

"I'm very sorry, I feel bad about this, but, er, actually I have just four," he told me.

"Four?" I said. (I had four classes THAT DAY.)

I enthused about it. "How wonderful for you! It must be lovely to be able to teach properly, and have time to follow up on student progress and have office hours and check homework and so on. When I assign homework I lose whole weekends, and I have to be careful not to assign it to everybody at once. And I never feel that I'm giving them enough feedback. You must really enjoy your job."

He looked even more embarrassed, and added, hastily,

"But we have meetings, too! They use a lot of time. I spend at least six hours a week in meetings."

"I've heard about meetings," I said. "They sound pretty bad."

"Yes," he said. He was looking very thoughtful. There was a long pause, then he changed the subject.

"What do you think of the students here?" he asked me, and I grinned to myself. He can add, too! He spends six hours a week in the classroom and six in meetings. I spend twenty-seven hours a week in the classroom. He gets paid at the very least double what I do, and I know, from my students, that the Japanese professors very rarely set any homework at all (also from The Man, who graduated from that place, and who told me he doesn't remember ever getting homework). When I ask them about their professors' office hours they don't know what I'm talking about. One professor at that institution actually complained, OFFICIALLY, IN A MEETING, that a foreign (full-time) teacher had taught her students to ask their professors QUESTIONS (she is teaching intensive courses to prepare students for overseas study) and this was disrupting his classes. His students were now ASKING QUESTIONS. Oh, the horror! Oh, the indignation! He could not understand why she was not ashamed.

After my smoking room companion left I sat there a while longer, thinking. Was I feeling envious? Did I hate him?

I was surprised to discover that I did not hate him. He was a nice guy, and I enjoyed talking with him. I enjoyed making those comments about office hours and homework and feedback. I liked being able to insert little assumptions into the conversation that might make him think, and I liked him for looking thoughtful and for being embarrassed. And I really do dislike the idea of spending time in meetings, although I must admit I envy the four classes bit. What teacher wouldn't? (Not to mention the money and time to do research and job security and pension and health insurance and all that.) Imagine having office hours (imagine having an OFFICE!), and not spending the ten minutes between classes frantically trying to answer students' questions, organize photocopies, keep on top of class notes, prepare for the next class, and so on. Imagine having time to actually follow up on the individual problems they have. Imagine being able to sit and THINK sometimes, and get your head together!

But also, imagine having all that time and not really knowing how to use it properly, and having to deal with the petty jealousies and interdepartmental rivalries and so on. If he started assigning homework and giving feedback and having office hours and so on, the other professors would hate him, because he'd show them up.

Sometimes it's good to be on the outside looking in. It's good to be working for the students instead of for the institution. I wonder if it's possible - anywhere - to do both?