Writing center depaul5/1/2023 I called my mom, nervous because of my rising hopefulness, and prepped a teaching demo including chocolate cupcakes that were absolutely not a bribe, I swear. I really had no other choice as deadlines approached, so I gathered my application materials and prepared myself for no response.ĭespite my worries, I was moving on to an interview-one that called for quite a bit of preparation. I thought about my options: I could not apply and save myself the sadness that would come with my inevitable rejection, or I could apply on a whim and maybe get an interview. The panic was beginning to set, and, in between teary calls to my parents and an exhausting trek for my daily iced latte, I happened upon the UCWbL’s hiring call a second time. The next morning, I opened my computer and sighed when I saw the job board still in my browser. How was I, a Spring-quarter freshman with no future living situation and an ever-changing degree status, supposed to teach others? There was no way I was qualified enough to work as a what they called “peer tutor.” When I stumbled upon the Writing Center’s hiring call, I laughed. It was an unseasonably warm March night, at about 12 am, and I was frantically searching the campus job board under the dim light of my computer screen to help me survive once I left the dorm walls of University Hall, while my freshman-year roommate snored slightly.Īs I scoured, I found jobs that seemed feasible, but nothing stood out as something that I wanted to do.
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