Now that I am back on the job market, I figured it would be a good idea to chronicle some of the hijinks at the potential new places I could end up working. I will do my best to conceal the identities of the places I visit so that their reputations remain as minimally damaged as possible. I will provide highlights from each visit and, at the end, assign a grade and offer recommendations that the offering institution should consider.

I am a finalist for a tenure-track position at D. W. Reed University. Like most SLACs, “D-Dubs,” is looking for a professor to teach the youth a thing or two about a thing or two. I can only guess that the committee really took a shine to my “students first” mentality. Despite what many of my articles suggest about my personality, I actually care about the kids. I just wish that a few more would take the initiative to be a little more productive in my classroom, maybe even do an assignment or two.

When I arrived, I was greeted by a tall drink of water who served as my guide for the proceedings. This fellow professor was a transplant and relatively new to the area themselves. In the five-minute walk to reach my teaching demonstration, I got to know way more about this professor’s philosophy than I cared to absorb. I could tell that they held a morally superior position to their students and the state in which they worked. I get it. I try my best not to openly mock southerners for not being able to handle an inch of snow, but I also understand that they do not have the means to handle anything remotely close to a snow emergency. Here is a hint for tour guides: don’t refer to the locals as a bunch of mouthbreathers who don’t care about human life. I’m a little thick, but I can tell when somebody thinks that their presence should be a blessing to all who bask in it. Besides, I know my roots are in a trailer park, so I have enough common sense not to lambaste where my students might call home. We will defend our prefabricated homes to the last if needbe.

Then I had my teaching demo, which didn’t have a single student. This absence is a first for me, as I typically have at least a few who are corralled into these things for bonus points. However, this class is full of the department faculty that I would work alongside. As I patiently wait for my time to begin, I overhear the chatter of a few colleagues that smells of the typical conversations I heard at Remus and Romulus. The topic is of how their students aren’t as sharp as they should be, and in some instances, mocking the stunning ignorance they witness.

After the demo, I was asked several questions that raised concerns. Most of the questions revolve around student engagement or bridging understanding when the concepts appear too abstract. In other words, this batch of faculty is having a problem reaching the youth. They hear my answers about how I make connections with students, and they look upon me as if I have unlocked life’s greatest mystery. The questions they asked didn’t sound as awful as the ones I had at Remus, but at least they didn’t ask me what size flak jacket I wear.

My meetings with the department chair and the dean were polar opposite encounters. The chair was calm, quiet, and collected throughout the entire process. They were impressed by my answers and absorbed my responses like a sedate village elder. The dean, on the other hand, was on edge and had a nervous tic that suggested they were the worst person to ever start a poker career. I could tell from the dean’s mannerisms that the school’s budgetary needs were always simmering on the back burner. There was a point in our conversation that I thought they were going to start crying.

I feel pretty confident about the visit. I could tell by some of the reactions to my answers that the committee was impressed.

However, I could strongly detect a lot of vibes reminiscent of Romulus, only with stronger stenches of pretentiousness and desperation. D-Dubs has more money than Romulus and nicer accommodations, but it still has many of the same problems. If Romulus is the corner store, then D-Dubs is the Duluth Trading Company. The school has resources, but it suffers from younger-sibling syndrome because it wants to be bigger and can’t attract the right clientele.

Overall, my grade is a D. For all the reasons I listed above, and because moving to the area would be a massive leap in terms of cost of living. D-Dubs is located in a suburb of a larger southern market, which means I could be near civilization, but I am not a fan of the rat race. Additionally, the compensation package is easily steering me away from considering this place. The last thing I need is to be in a new place that feels like the old place, and the means to make ends meet will be tighter.