Abio 27: On becoming a teacher
Abio 27: On becoming a teacher
Here is another story from my earlier days living in Berkeley and dating Susan.
At my phone company job, once AT&T divested and we became Pacific Telephone, the Phone Centers folded and I was transferred to a cubicle in a large office on the second floor. My job was to answer the phone and help customers with problems or address transfers. Also, I was expected to sell, sell, sell. I never was comfortable with hard selling, unless the customer asked about a product or service. Hopes for a promotion dissipated. I felt trapped in a box, but kept doing my best.
Things all fell apart one day. I took a call from a little old lady who had Lifeline Service on a fixed income. Lifeline was limited to 30 outgoing calls a month for $2.50. Looking at her account, she only made about a dozen calls a month, all to the same few numbers.
She was in desperation. “What is the problem?” I asked.
Close to tears, she told me, “I can’t hear my phone ring.” It was a black rotary dialer. “My children are scolding me, and I am scaring them. They call me, and I don’t answer. Then my daughter will drive up from San Leandro to check on me. They think maybe I died. It’s upsetting my children. What do I do?”
I told her something I learned from my own grandmother back in Ridgway when her hearing faltered and she couldn’t hear the phone. “Do you own a metal pie pan?” I asked.
“Yes, I do,” she said. I explained a solution that would not cost her an extra dime.
“Here is what you do, ma’am. Get out that pie tin and lay it upside down on a hard surface, like a table or counter. Then place you phone on top of it. When the phone rings, it will rattle the tin and increase the sound. You should be able to hear it from another room.”
“Oh, my goodness. Thank you so much, young man. I was afraid I would have to buy something and I can’t afford that. You solved my problem. Thank you, thank you.” She hung up. I sat there glowing, basking in the warmth of doing a good deed and helping a senior citizen in her time of need.
Five minutes later, a supervisor came to my desk and rolled a chair over for herself. She sat and stared at me, holding a clipboard full of notes. I knew what that meant. She’d been tapping my line from the back room, listening to my calls, a common practice at the phone company.
“What is the matter with you?” she admonished. “What are you doing? You just missed a golden opportunity. You could have sold that woman an extension phone, or an external gong, or a flashing light, or an answering machine, or all four. You missed an easy sale.”
I explained to her, “The old lady was on Lifeline Service, and well under her allotted 30 calls a month. She doesn’t have any extra money.”
Then she said something that is still true, too true for me, and it ended my desire to keep working there. She said, “It is not your job to spend customers’ money. It is your job to sell our products and services.”
That’s when it happened. I realized that my career at the phone company was coming to a close. I needed to quit. Must talk to Susan ASAP. Distress welled in my throat. I nodded and apologized to my supervisor. She didn’t need to know what I was thinking.
That evening, Susan and I went out to dinner at the Berkeley Soup Kitchen restaurant for $1 each. I told her what happened and that I needed to quit my job. She understood and agreed. “It’s a hell hole. You need to get out. What are you going to do?”
My solution was bubbling over. “I want to become a teacher. If I have to sell anything, I’d rather sell ideas than phones.” My brief experience substitute teaching in Modesto had primed my pump. I knew what it took, and knew I could do it.
“You will need to go back to college and get a teaching credential. It could take two years.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m ready. I’ve saved enough money to get by for a while.”
Here is how I saved money. My method was unorthodox and Susan never did agree to try it herself, but it worked for me. I had accumulated a little over $7,000 in my checking account in four years. I had a check book. Each time I wrote a check, when I entered it into my book, I would round up to an even dollar amount. If I spent $16.40, I’d enter minus $20. If I spent $23.50, I’d deduct $30 from my check book. When the book said I was broke, I would not spend any money until my next paycheck. I never, never looked at my official bank statements. I did not what to know the real amount.
Susan, by the way, never wanted to ride on my motorcycle, so the first thing I did was buy a marked down Toyota Tercel that had been used by the dealer as a demo drive. It cost me $4,000, and I paid cash. Then I enrolled at Hayward State in their two-year teaching credentialing program. Susan agreed to help me transition if I needed it. She brought me food, bought me clothes, took care of me throughout. I paid the university myself, plus my $100 monthly rent, my only bill. I had already paid off my bachelor-degree loan early by always making double payments and rounding up.
I attended classes in Hayward during the day, and spent my evenings doing my homework and reading textbooks. I’d fall asleep with a book on my chest, wake up the next morning, and continue reading. Also, I always took more than a full load of classes, earning up 23 credits per semester and was able to graduate in one year instead of two.
I still remember my primary thesis paper of about 48 pages. It was called, “The History of Laughter.” I studied laughter from the age of Neanderthals to today, and created a wide variety of lesson plans that incorporated what I learned. I read two books by philosopher Henri Bergson, Laughter and Comedy. There are several theories. Laughing isn’t always about funny stuff. We laugh when we hit a lottery jackpot or when our team crosses the goal line or makes a half-court three pointer. We laugh when we get the drop on somebody, or catch a big fish. We laugh when we feel superior to our situations.
When I graduated, Susan helped me interview in Benicia and I was hired where I spent the next 30 years. Shortly after graduation, Susan quit the phone company and entered the teaching credentialing program at Sonoma State, and I supported her through that time. She, too, found a teaching position in Benicia, and we worked side by side until we both retired in 2015 together, holding hands on the stage, waving at our peers.
Comments
Post a Comment