The Adjunct

There is one constant, one fact, one basis of reality, which unites all teachers of all colors and creeds, everywhere: We don’t get paid enough for this shit.

The second, without question, is that no matter what subject we teach we need to make a lot of copies.

I’ve worked at many different colleges, and everyone has their own way of providing instructors with copier access. The most common setup is that there is a reprographics center where you bring your originals, fill out a request, sign a form that says you are not reproducing copyrighted material without permission, hand over the copyrighted material which you of course did not obtain permission to reproduce, and wait at least 24 hours for the work to be completed.

The best system I ever encountered was at a school whose English Department had their own high-end copy machine that we instructors were free to use anytime, and with no limits. Oh, I remember it fondly. That sucker could spit out 100 correlated and stapled copies of Jhumpa Lahiri‘s “The Third And Final Continent” in ten minutes flat. Did I mention no limits? Some schools give you a personal code with a set number of credits on it. If you go over, you’re screwed. There was nothing more freeing for me as an instructor to rest assured that if I needed copies of my tests, short stories, handouts, or other materials for class that I would be able to get them, printed quickly, and with no hassle. Ah, those were the days.

Last Thursday I walked into our college’s mailroom, where sits the best mimeograph machine that the 1973 Soviet Union had to offer. Every single instructor for the entire campus shares this one machine. As usual, it had a giant OUT OF ORDER sign taped to it. Alternatives? Slim. The school’s reprographics office is really the student copy center. We instructors can request copies there, but the center will charge our department exactly what they would have charged students. We’ve been told by our chair to only use “reprographics” if we absolutely, positively need to, and that they will know damn well who we are and how many copies we are charging to the department. They also take several days to process any request, even small ones. I had a class starting in twenty minutes and needed 25 copies of a one-page quiz. There was only one copier left on campus that I could use.

In the back of our division office, in the instructor’s break room, there is a copier even older than the one in the mailroom. We are each allowed only 10 copies per day on it. A sign taped above the copier tells us this, and also says (I shit you not) that we are being video taped even though, and I quote, “You can’t see the camera, but it’s there!” Did I mention this is in the instructor’s break room? No students allowed, only teachers. That really sets a nice tone towards a group of educators with advanced degrees who need to make copies in order to teach the future minds of our world.

Cameras be damned, I needed 25 copies, and went ahead and started copying my quiz.

When I was at about 17, the Earth shook and the windows rattled. Our gianourmous department secretary, who by my best guess weighs about 550 pounds, did something I had never before seen: she stood up and walked a few feet.

“Ya’ll know you ain’t s’possed to be making more than ten copies, right?” she asked me.

“Hmm?” I played dumb, and smiled blissfully at her.

“Sign says right there,” she pointed rather than walk over to it. I studied the sign curiously, as if for the first time. Yep, 10 copies per day.

“Oh, is that for instructors? I thought that must be for students.”

“Ten copies!” she snapped angrily. “Ya’ll use the mailroom if you need more.”

When I need more? When would I ever need just 10? The smallest class I had ever taught at that school was 25 students.

“The one in the mailroom is out of order,” I told her.

“Not my problem. Go to reprographics then. Go to Kinko’s then. Ten copies in here.”

She then turned around on her heel and lethargically headed back for her cubicle. Loudly, she commented to…I’m guessing either the air or the ghost of her dead co-worker…about ‘people commin’ in here and makin’ copies.’

I find incidents like this very discouraging, and demoralizing. When we have to battle to make copies of a quiz or assignment for our students, then it makes us more and more willing to just say, “Fuck this!” and call it a day. People always angrily rant about teachers who don’t even try, but they never ask why. Why do teachers give up? Why do we start thinking of the job as just another paycheck?

In the above situation, the priority should have been to getting the students their handouts. If I had been in there making copies of my manuscript, or if I constantly was in the office running off assignments at the last minute, then it would have been a different story. What happened was that the school’s main copier was broken, and I needed an alternative. We’ve been yelled at in advance about using reprographics, and even so, it really is just the student copy center, and they would not have done a rush job for me, even though it was only 25 copies. I can’t tell you how many times I do go to Kinko’s, or use my own home printer, to make copies for class and pay out of my own pocket.

The department secretary makes four times what I make (no exaggeration, I heard her mouthing off about her paycheck one day, and it is almost exactly 4X what I make…and I mean my total pay…from all the schools that I work at), and she also has full benefits and the job for life.

After this incident, I pay for the copies myself, or I print them at one of the two other schools I teach at.

I don’t go into the division office anymore.