NOTE: This is a continuation of the saga begun in this post.
College A is going to be the death of me. Just sayin.
Two weekends ago I rewrote a syllabus for a class that turned out to be one of those late-start classes that's condensed into 14 weeks instead of the whole semester. Which I hadn't realized, so the syllabus was all wrong. Remember that? Yeah. So, last week, they cancelled it. Sure. Fine. Whatever. Five classes is way too many when you factor in the commute between colleges (at least an hour, one way, to each). I moved on.
This past weekend I had to rewrite a syllabus that I'd sent in a month ago because they finally got around to reading it and noticed that it didn't jibe with their critical updates. Part was my fault, because I left out that teensy little line on the schedule that says when the third paper was due, so they thought I only assigned three papers, when there are in fact four. Oooops. The other part was their fault, because they couldn't find something that was there. That class was scheduled to have started this past Tuesday evening.
Tuesday morning, as I was drinking my tea and getting ready for classes at both colleges, they called to cancel that class. And called back ten minutes later to offer me three other classes, two of which I couldn't take because of conflicts with College B, whose classes have already started. (And yes, since you asked, it was in fact the ENG210 that I accepted at the last minute that was the conflict. Behold the irony.) The third class was going to be at the same time as the class they'd just cancelled. And it was a class I've already taught a zillion times, and am teaching at another time this semester, and all was cool. I poured most of my now-cold tea out, leapt into some clothes, and fled to College B with my hair still in wild disarray, though I did put on lipstick while waiting at a railroad crossing.
There's more. Of course there's more.
Today I found out that I have to write an entirely new syllabus, because......this is a contract class with an outside company, offsite, and they've always used a different textbook. And they'd like to keep using it please. Fortunately, I already have a copy of this other textbook, because I now have to spend this, my third weekend in a row, writing a syllabus. For a class that isn't supposed to exist.
The class has seven students in it, which is wonderful. Because two drafts each of four papers is much less horrifying from seven students than it is from twenty-eight, which is the normal maximum enrollment.
Until I looked online and noticed that the registrar's office has opened enrollment for this class to the student population. And assigned critical mass as 28 instead of 10. Um, scuse me. And there are PEOPLE REGISTERING. Which means if they don't fix it soon, preferably closer to immediately and retroactively, I am going to have potentially 35 people who think they are in my class. I'm not really okay with this on oh, so many many levels.
And for this? For this I get paid the equivalent of four months' of health insurance payments. Or about two months' rent, were I to manage to escape the sucking vortex that seems to be my life at the moment.
I'd say to stick around for the conclusion, but I'm kind of afraid to find out, myself. So if you know what happens next, drop me a line. I'll be hiding under my desk.