Higher Education in Corporate America

Here’s the other thing about NYLISC: we’re owned by a corporation. This is a fairly recent phenomenon in the business world. A huge conglomerate takes over a tiny, private college, and owns an entire network of schools. These schools are money-machines. They take and take and take money from people who, well, who don’t really belong in college. Because they pay tuition, we have to put up with them. Hence, the grade inflation and molly-coddling that’s practically written into the contract.

Can we complain? Nope. We’re always reminded that we’re at-will employees. That means that we’re working at NYLISC on our own accord and can leave any time. Because, as we all know, there are plenty of jobs for English teachers—-they aren’t a dime a dozen.

So here’s a typical scenario at NYLISC, Inc. In a class that’s maxed out at 20 in a classroom with 20 seats will be at least 35 students on the first day. This will be a developmental course for students who failed the placement test for whatever reason; usually they claim it’s because they didn’t care about it. The real reason is usually that they don’t know the material. So, we’re in a pre-college prep course for no credit at full tuition, where passing depends on individual attention. We go back to that whole 35:1 ratio in a classroom with only 20 seats. We can’t kick anyone out of the class because that might hurt someone’s feelings and then people will drop out of college and enroll at Gene McQueen’s School of Beauty down the block. So we must keep everyone crammed into the tiny room. And if the fire code sign hanging next to the door says the maximum occupancy is 21, we can accidentally tear down the sign.

And it’s all my fault because I’m the teacher.

Next, no one has a text book. Because it’s expensive. And no one has a pen because why should they have to write things down, yo? And no one wants to be there because they find out after the Add/Drop period that they’re not earning any credits towards their degree for this class, and what does having to write have to do with their major, and they’re never, ever going to use writing when they get jobs so why should they try? And still, no text books. Even though they supposedly qualified for book vouchers that never factor into their financial aid until after they graduate.

And it’s all my fault. Because I’m the teacher.

At the end, five people pass with flying colors because the placement test was wrong; it always makes mistakes. The company that owns us makes us use it because they have an agreement with the test maker that inevitably makes them money. The students may also pass because they were accidentally enrolled in the class when they passed their placement test in the first place. And then they come to my office and complain about how they want their money back and they’re going to sue the school. I tell them that they should sue and give me a cut of the money because we’re owned by a multi-billion dollar corporation, and wherever that money is going, it’s not finding its way into my paycheck.

They never sue, but they do complain to the president who questions why they weren’t withdrawn from the class and he won’t accept the Gene McQueen Beauty School scenario.

And it’s still all my fault because I’m still the teacher.

Ten have fallen off the face of the earth by the time the final rolls around so they fail automatically. Which makes it appear as though I’ve failed in teaching a large part of the class how to write, despite the refusal to buy books or care about the class on their part. And despite the fact that I was made to try to hunt them down by seeking out their contact information from the school computer system that always crashes, and attempt to contact them using numbers that are disconnected, fake, or have voicemail that no one checks. Then I must keep a call log and report them to some student advisory office who always sends me an email saying that I need to contact the students first before sending them the notices.

And whose fault is it? Mine. Why? Because I’m the teacher.

The remaining students are all borderline, so the department comes together as a whole to debate over who could possibly write an essay that would be passable in an actual college class, and who really needs one more round of remedial. Those grades are no longer up to me alone. Then the students who pass are happy and never thank me. The students who fail storm into my office and demand a recount. I explain that the decision wasn’t mine, it was the department’s. They rant about how they pay tuition and should, therefore, pass all their classes. They pay my salary! How dare I? How dare I? They write letters of complaint to various administrators all about entitlement. All the letters are completely unintelligible because they all really deserved to fail. One of the letters will be completely in Spanish because some students don’t speak a lick of English, yet they enroll anyway, in the meek hopes that no one will notice. They will go onto the internet and post nasty semi-literate comments about me on RateMyProfessor.com and put little frown emoticons next to my name, warning every other college student not to take my classes because “she be hard yo” and “u ned 2 take the test over.” These same students will somehow earn A’s in other classes. I’ll be the only one doling out F’s.

My fault. I’m the teacher.

Then, some of the failures will wind up in the college-level classes anyway because some nameless administrator has forged a Change of Grade form during the semester break and now the almost illiterates will slip through the system, into the workforce, NYLISC degree in hand. And bosses will ask, bewilderedly, “where did you come from?” and the employees will say, “NYLISC.” And bosses will contact Career Services at NYLISC and request that they stop sending their graduates over because their graduates are not ready for the real world of work. Where deadlines and spelling really do count! And then unemployment will go up. Worlds will come crashing down. Illiteracy will run rampant and buildings will spontaneously burst into flames. Chaos! Anarchy! Evil will prevail!

And it will be all my fault. Because I’m the teacher.