Step One: NYCTF Interview Day

Sooo… The day I created this blog, I wrote this….

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I'm not a teacher yet, but I'm crossing my fingers that that will change by September. I interviewed yesterday with New York City Teaching Fellows, and I have an interview lined up for March 24 with Teach for America.

Yesterday's interview was- in a word-- bizzarre. I've never walked away from an interview feeling so clueless. In the past, I've gone home feeling like I nailed it or I blew it. But this time, I left wondering how the interviewers were possibly going to select their teachers based on that. The interview format left little to no room to shine. The day went as follows...

I arrived at the massive, beautiful Irving Washington High School in Manhattan embarrassingly early. So I strolled along to a small cafe a couple blocks away where I drank a mediocre-tasting smoothie. As I sipped away and mentally rehearsed my teaching sample for the bazillionth time, an excessively smiley group of waitstaff clustered in the corner and I think talked about me in Spanish. I would have talked about me too. I looked ridiculous. I walked in carrying a heavy, awkward bag filled with a binder full of education articles and lesson props, fumbled with it as I sat down, looked around nervously, and began frantically scribbling down notes about my leadership style, why I want to teach, etc.... anticipating the one-on-one interview questions. Forty-five minutes later, it was go-time. I put my game face on and strode confidently back to the school, ready to field any hard-hitting question they threw my way.

Two aloof security guards mumbled something about the elevator to the second (?) seventh (?) floor when I greeted them by eagerly announcing that I was there for the New York City Teaching Fellows interview. I chuckled at myself as I headed for the elevators, wondering why I expected the guards to give me any more enthusiasm than they had. They've probably seen thousands of faces exactly like mine... idealistic, eager, smiling, clueless. I boarded the old elevator with about five other candidates, asking each other if the guards said second or seventh. We decided on seventh and wandered into a hallway where a line of at least 15 other candidates had already formed. All were dead silent. We took our place at the back of the line, and I let my Minnesota nice take over as I struck up a conversation with the girl behind me.

She graduated with a religious studies BA. A year and a half ago I would have mentally noted the worthlessness of her degree, but I found myself envying her. She probably at least learned some incredibly interesting things about philosophy, history and world cultures. Earning my journalism degree was not only uninteresting, but it was also proving to be completely worthless since my decision not to pursue a career in advertising. I had learned very little, retained even less, and I was kicking myself for attempting to choose a ‘practical’ major, as opposed to an interesting one.

I finally made it to the front of the line where a young, uncertain-looking man informed me that I would be in group I. (I was later informed that he was a student at one of the high schools where teaching fellows were placed.) I proceeded to my assigned room, where I sparked conversations with the other candidates. Of the six people in my interview group, maaaybe three seemed certain of their desire to be there. The others remarked that they thought teaching might be kinda fun or shrugged as they revealed that they really didn’t know what they wanted to do, but that they just hated their current jobs.

Enter interviewers. Two women walked briskly into the room, each eying their watches. The one in the glasses began. “Alright. My name’s (can’t remember). I’ve been teaching in New York City public schools for 12 years. I love my job, but it’s hard work, and you shouldn’t be here if you aren’t going to work your ass off.” Done. The red head with all the curls chimed in, “I’m (can’t remember). I taught for a few years. Now I work with the Dept. of Ed, and I’ll be supporting the fellows this year.” Done. They burped out a few instructions about how the lesson plan portion of the interview would be run and took their seats in the back of the room with their clipboards, pens and stopwatches.

Each person delivered their five-minute sample teaching lessons. Some more effectively than others. I taught onomatopoeia, and I thought I did fairly well. Though it was impossible to gauge any sort of reaction from my interviewers because neither of them looked up from their papers and racing pens throughout the entire five minutes. “Come on! I’m tipping over chairs, pouring water, and blowing up balloons up here! Can I get some eye contact, please?” I cursed the missed opportunity to stick out and hoped deep down that they were writing rave reviews of my creative approach to the lesson.

Onto the discussion portion. We were split into two groups made up of three candidates and one interviewer. The interviewer gave us the scenario of being a teacher who just found out about a high-stakes test her class needed to pass, followed by comments made to her by 1) another teacher, 2) a principal and 3) a parent, regarding the upcoming testing. I liked the question. It felt realistic and applicable. The discussion that ensued was kind of lame because the three of us took turns spewing forced pleasantries like, “Yes, I really like the point you made about x… and I’d like to build on it by also highlighting y…” It was fine, but definitely the most unnatural conversation I’ve ever had, and I again felt like there was no room to stand out because we just kept agreeing with each other and “building.” The interviewer stayed silent and continued to frantically write out our every word.

Next the writing sample. We were given 20 minutes to write a letter to the parents of our imaginary students, given the scenario that those students had widely varying ability levels and some of their parents had called our principal, upset that the students’ test scores weren’t improving. Again, great question, I thought. A very conceivable situation.

It was finally time for the one-on-one interview, and I was reeeeallly eager to demonstrate how right I was for the job. I had done so much research, brainstormed so many potential questions and solid responses, and I had always prided myself on my ability to connect with and charm my interviewer. I walked in, took my seat, and she began with the questions. “Can you tell me about the approach you took in your writing sample?” Sweet. I had a lot to say about that, so I was feeling good. But again, the woman refused to look up from her paper, as she wrote out my every word. She followed with several questions that felt kind of ‘off,’ but I wasn’t entirely sure. Then, ten minutes into the 20-minute interview, she asked, “Can you tell me more about your experience as a physical education teacher?” WHAT?! I’ve never taught phys ed. She had the wrong file. She’d read someone else’s writing sample, was reading someone else’s résumé and was asking me someone else’s questions. I offered her a few minutes alone to read through my materials, but she declined and proceeded to ask me a series of generic questions. Again, my chance to shine was BLOWN! Frustrated, I attempted to salvage what remained of the factory interview before heading out into the hallway, where I chatted with a few other candidates.

I came to realize throughout the day that I learned more about urban education at my non-profit job this year than I had realized. Most of the people I talked to seemed wholly unaware of what went on in low-income schools. …Unresponsive administrators, the pressures of high stakes testing, the challenge of unsupportive parents, the ever-looming mystery that is classroom management. This was called to my attention through comments made by fellow interviewees like, “But these are children who need to learn in school! Why wouldn’t an administration be supportive?” Huh?! I mean, I didn’t want to be full of myself, but I definitely felt at that moment like I might be more ready for this than I’d given myself credit for. If nothing else, at least I’ve got a leg up on those who had clearly never worked with an inner city school. Having an idea of what to expect would be a step in the right direction.

I’m just crossing my fingers that I somehow left a favorable impression through that impersonal mass interview. Now the waiting….