Hello air conditioning, my old friend.
My luck continues when I spot a men’s room.
So I freshen up, washing my face with cool water, and giving myself another pep talk in the mirror. “Not working, old approach. Another, you must try, Young Bass. Rock star, you are,” I say like Yoda for some unknown reason.
I enter the office fifteen minutes early and introduce myself.
“Welcome!” yells the tiny woman behind the desk. She looks to be maybe ninety years old and is squinting so badly I wonder if she might be legally blind in addition to being hard of hearing, or so I assume based on the way she yells. She’s in plain clothes, wearing a heavy sweater to protect her from the air conditioning. “We’ve been praying hard for a miracle around here! I hope you’re it! Take a seat!”
I laugh and then sit down by the teacher mail cubicles and read the last names printed above each. I wonder who will have to move all but Mrs. Abel’s name over should Mr. Bass get hired and take cubicle number two, by right of alphabetical order.
The old woman disappears and a minute or so later returns with another slightly less elderly nun, who is maybe six feet tall and rather manly looking, even though she’s in a nun’s habit. A large silver crucifix rests on her enormous breasts, she’s wearing tan stockings in August, and her hands are so large and red that I wonder if maybe she started out life as the opposite gender.
“Mr. Bass, I presume?” she says, extending her gigantic mitt toward me.
I stand. “Mother Ebling?” When we shake, her grip pinches me unexpectedly, almost as if her hand were a claw.
“You may call me Mother Catherine.” She lets go, saying, “Follow me,” and I obey.
The tiny old woman who first greeted me yell-whispers, “Good luck! And I’ll say a prayer for you!”
Even though I’m not really religious, her offer makes me feel a little better. So far, people are nice here, at least.
I wonder if Mother Catherine just moved in. There are boxes all over the floor, and nothing hung on the walls. She sits down in a throne of leather behind a large wooden desk and motions for me to sit in the much more modest wooden chair facing her, so I do.
She examines my face for a moment or two, like she’s sizing me up. “This is my first week as principal here, and you are my first official order of business. Do you want to know why you were called in for an interview after the position had already been filled a month ago?”
“I’m happy to interview, regardless of why the position has opened up. I’m ready to teach,” I say. I had no idea there had been a previous hiring for the job. I’ve shotgunned my CV around to so many places that I can’t really keep track of them all.
“I see you’re a no-nonsense type of guy. I like your style, Mr. Bass,” she says, and then gives me a smile. “If you get hired today, you’ll no doubt learn the gossip soon enough—that is, if you haven’t already read today’s local paper. There were some unethical hiring practices going on. The former principal is being accused of abusing his authority, and the attractive young woman he hired earlier in the summer has filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against us. So here I am, filling in as emergency principal, and here you are.”
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.
“Those are my cards. Right there on the table,” she says. “Let’s see yours.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why haven’t you been hired yet?”
“I don’t know. I’m ready to teach, though. I’m an excellent teacher.”
“Are you a practicing Catholic?”
“No.”
“Are you a nonpracticing Catholic?”
I swallow once and shake my head.
“Do you believe in God, at least?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, and it’s true—I pretty much believe in God, or maybe I don’t not believe in God.
“Well, that’s certainly a good start. Now, should we hire you, would you be willing to uphold the beliefs and morals of the Catholic Church in your classroom, or are you one of those teachers who want to Trojan-horse us?”
“Trojan-horse you?”
“Sneak inside our walls using some sort of philosophical disguise and then attack from within. I’ve seen it happen a million times. People take jobs working for the Catholic Church and then they want to challenge the roles of nuns and priests and debate all sorts of things just to get everyone upset. We don’t need that, especially at an elementary school. You don’t have to agree with everything the Catholic Church does, but if you want to work here and take home a check every two weeks, you have to at least be respectful of the institution providing you with a job.”
This nun is intense, I think. “I just want to teach kids how to read and do math. Help them learn how to write. I have no other agenda than to educate. Especially regarding six-year-olds. I mean, it’s first grade, right?”
She looks into my eyes for what seems like an eternity. “I believe you. Good.”
I nod, because I don’t know what else to do, and when the sound of the air conditioning blowing full blast starts to get uncomfortable, I say, “Would you like to see my teaching portfolio?”
“In order to speed up the process—and especially in light of recent events here at our school—I’ve already spoken with your references, including the cooperating teacher with whom you did your student teaching, Mrs. Baxter. She was absolutely lovely on the phone, and she’s already told me everything I need to know about what you are capable of doing in the classroom.” Mother Catherine pauses, smiles knowingly, and says, “Before I ask this next question, I would like to preface it by saying I am a Catholic woman, and Catholic women believe in redemption and the power of forgiveness. But we do not suffer liars all that well. No, we surely do not. So with that in mind, why is there a rather large blank on your CV? Who were you before you decided to teach little children?”