I'm having a bit of a Job week. That is to say that everything seems to be going wrong and I am feeling quite sorry for myself.
I was kind of bummed because the agents for the sellers of the house upon which I had made an offer had seemed to blow my offer off. It was significantly under the asking price. The frustrating thing was that my agent couldn't get ahold of the seller's agency. They had three different numbers and none of them were picking up when we called, and they hadn't returned any of the messages.
Rich seems to be losing heart in the search. If he spends many more hours he isn't going to have made much when the commission comes. I was ready to buy the house that I had decided on as a backup if the summer wanned and I hadn't found a house I really wanted. The asking price was only $49,000 and he didn't seem to want to move on it (presumambly because depending on how he values his time he might have actually come out behind on that commission.) Anyway, while he didn't talk to me about it it sold. So now I was without even a backup.
Then, this last Friday the 72 year old front office secratary who is going to be in the library during the 3 periods I'm teaching English and Yearbook this school year, called to say that she wanted to move her stuff in, but she thought that we should move the furniture around a little. I said that would probably be fine, but I wanted to come in and look at what she wanted to do. She handed me off to my Principal who said that he wanted to talk to me about my room. He asked me if I got his email and I said I hadn't. The nice folks who were providing my internet access moved away, and I'm not going to get my own connection since it is my sincere desire to move from here as soon as possible. I told my Principal that I was going to be coming in to look at the library with Ginger and he said he'd talk with me then.
As I was riding my bike in I got run off the road by a careless semi driver. I ended up riding hard into a sewer grate that popped my tire, and I had to walk the last two miles in my flip-flops, which rubbed holes in my feet. I got to school and told my Principal about it and he commiserated and proceeded to tell me that the Special Ed department wanted my room and he was going to move me to the worst room in the school to let them have it. This room is impossible to teach in. I know because it was my room the first year I was there. This was horribly, horribly dissappointing. This is especially so since after my first year he promised me a nice room next to the other English teacher with a wall of windows, then forgot and gave it to a new Social Studies teacher. I had to settle for the room across the hall, with no windows, and bad heat and air conditioning. Still it was a huge improvement over my other room, and I settled in. So, it is a great irony that I am now being kicked out of it and banished to what feels like nothing less than a gulag in Siberia.
I tried to convince him to give me the room I'd originally been promised after my first year, and send the new Social Studies teacher (the guy from the beginning of the year got fired (the Principal seems to fire or pressure out anyone who rubs him wrong, so that each year I've worked there we've had about a 30% turn over in the staff.)) over there. I don't think he bought it though. I thought I had him until he realized I was only going to be in that classroom for two periods per day. Anyway, it just kind of sucks.
So after all that I went into the library with the secretary and she told me that basically she wanted to make everything like it was before I'd changed everything when I moved into the library at the end of last year. I explained why I'd made the changes that I had, to try to improve the discipline in the library. As it was, the library was a place to go to avoid class. I was pretty adamant that it become a place of order. She more or less called me a tyrant and wondered why couldn't I just let her have it her way, and when I didn't relent she began crying a little.
I talked quickly and kept her talking, and eventually it came out that what she wanted was just to have a desk space that was hers and hers alone. The way I had it we were going to be using the same desk. She wanted a place that was her own where she could put her stuffed animals and her paper weights and her tape dispenser, and by implication, and place where she could root her identity. In the end that was why she was there. It wasn't becuase she needed the money. Working where she does, doing what she is doing is a statment of identity and purpose for which to live. Eventually we compromised by me setting up desks for us both at the front of the library.
And it came to me that that was exactly why I was having such a hard time. Things have been going worse and worse with my apartment to the point that I kind of feel like my place isn't here anymore. That's why I started looking for a house. I wanted a place that was mine, and could be a representation and even maybe a part of me. But it seemed with all these setbacks almost like a voice saying, "You see yourself here? No, you can't live here. Oh, your marginally interested in this place? No, here's a crap place in a bad neighborhood that doesn't meet your expectations or needs."
Now the same thing was happening at school. I was getting kicked out of my room and given the worst piece of real estate in the building, and I was being edged out a little in the library too.
The upshot of it was that I saw then that they house that I had been most interested in of all that I saw was still on the market. It's the house on 13th East in the gully with the south facing wall of windows. I called the only contractor I know in Salt Lake (one of the teachers who took his leave from the school after my first year), and tried to get him or one of his guys to go look at it with me. It was still on the market I assumed because it was in really rough shape, and I wanted his opinion on whether I could afford it with repairs. The thing was that he took a long time getting back to me. Finally this Sunday in the middle of the night I woke up and decided I was going to make an offer on it no matter what.
Remember how my internet is gone? When I went to the library and got my email there was one from Rich saying the seller's agent on the house I had offered on had finally gotten back to him and that my offer was the highest, but still not enough for the seller to cover their debt. As a result it was going into short sale and I could re-offer when the bank took over, and find out in six months whether I got it. Also, the house on 13th East was sold.
So, I've been feeling sorry for myself, and trying to fix my bike, which I might have broken more while trying to fix. At the least I've ruined $15 in parts. Whatever. I'm going to go get some more and keep at it.
