Jackie was calling from Colorado, asking a question that Paul never expected to hear again in his life: “Have you considered being a school counsellor?”
“I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with those who came to me for help,” lied Paul. His heart was pounding. Jackie was working for the Art Institute Online, like Paul. She was the manager for learning graphics production. How did she know that his degree was in counselling, not teaching?
“You are exactly what I would expect a counsellor to be,” said Jackie.
“I don’t think so,” said Paul. “I never thought I could be a good counsellor.”
There was never any idle talk with Jackie; she wanted something when they spoke. Paul had watched from afar when other instructional designers disagreed with Jackie. She was very clear what she thought about them, and they did not last long with the Institute after they had a disagreement with her. She was a long-time graphics arts instructor at several Art Institute campuses. Paul had been able to work around any issue she had, carefully asking questions about what was needed and providing a solution.
“You are a counsellor,” said Jackie.
“I’m an instructional designer now,” said Paul.
“You have a degree in counselling, not teaching,” said Jackie.
“That’s why I’m an instructional designer. I have training in cognitive psychology along with the full spectrum of teaching courses.”
Paul listened as Jackie took a long breath, irritated. Silence.
“I’ve been working as an instructional designer for over two years, and there have been over thirty others who couldn’t do the job for the Art Institute,” said Paul.
“That’s because you write lectures when our subject matter experts walked away from the projects,” said Jackie.
“You have had only praise for my work all this time; what changed?”
“You are a counsellor, not a teacher.”
“I have a proven record as an instructional designer here and with many other clients.”
“That doesn’t change what you really are,” said Jackie. “I’ll list what I need from you in an email.” The phone clicked, and she was gone.
Several years had passed since Paul graduated with a Bachelors of Education that qualified him to be a counsellor, but he had insisted that he would only accept being a teacher, as his focus was on becoming a literary writer, which was prohibited for a counsellor, who had to commit to the total confidentiality of those who would confide in him. Even the perception that the trust was broken would not be allowed. The faculty advisor discussed the possibility of Paul pursuing his degree in counselling because of his postgraduate degree and honours status throughout his studies. The issues were clearly discussed, with the reasons to pursue teaching. There was a clear agreement that Paul would graduate as a teacher. All the documentation for his admission into the degree program stated he was in the teaching program, but on the last day of his lectures, he was informed that he was receiving a degree in counselling, and even though he had short stories accepted in literary magazines, he would not be allowed to publish anymore. That was if he accepted a counselling position. Paul had started over, accepting contracts as an instructional designer, as his degree included cognitive psychology.
Before he was accepted into the Education program, Paul completed his Master of Arts degree with a thesis about the Second World War effort on the Canadian prairies, in time for the fiftieth anniversary of the beginning of the war. A local publisher approached him to publish with them. Paul went on to publish history and many articles. He continued taking classes at the university in art history before he formally entered the Education Degree. His resume was perfect for the instructional designer position at the Art Institute.
Jackie and Paul met two and a half years earlier in Toronto when all the members of the development team for the Art Institute were organizing, along with the host company-provided administration and servers for the courses. Every member was working remotely, with Paul flying in from Saskatoon. The Director of Learning, Mike, was a middle-aged, tall, willow-framed man with a distinguished appearance who arrived from Atlanta. Jane, the assistant director, was a middle-aged, medium-built woman with dirty-blond hair who was from Pittsburgh, where the Institute was based. Richard, another instructional designer, was also from Pittsburgh.
Jackie was in her thirties, had a lean build, and appeared comfortable wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. “I have personality,” she said as her introduction to Paul. She meant she was a difficult character.
Jane smiled at Paul as she sat down across from him in the boardroom. “When I saw you had the instructional design experience and you were a nonfiction writer, I knew you would be perfect for this position.”
Mike leaned forward and looked at Paul firmly: “We had over thirty candidates already, but you are the only one who appears to have what we need.”
“What was the problem with them?” asked Paul.
“We need completed, online courses, but the problem is mainly with the subject matter experts,” continued Jane.
“They are from different institutions across the country with great credentials, but when we ask them to provide the course content, very few provide everything that is on the syllabus,” said Mike.
“The instructional designers provide the background about what is needed by the learners, but if the content is not there, the project dies,” said Jane.
“So, we want you to own the courses we give you and do everything that needs to be done,” said Mike.
“That’s how things went in the other contracts I had,” replied Paul.
“We need you to create turn-key packages, from content, to assignments, evaluations, and facilitators’ notes,” said Jane.
“I can do that,” replied Paul.
The months and years passed as Paul completed the coursework as asked. He became a course reviewer for courses produced for the institute in India.
Paul provided outlines for Jackie with rough drawings for learning graphics for the courses. The process went well, but the number of courses continued to grow as the institute expanded what it offered online, allowing visiting students to take courses they could not get at their universities.
* * *
Paul answered the phone as he worked on the lectures for the course Early Civilizations Art, and felt the tight muscles in his shoulders as he heard Mike’s voice.
“How’s it going?” asked Mike.
“Good,” replied Paul as he turned his focus to the conversation.
“I’m working on …”
“I know exactly what you’re working on,” said Mike. “Have you seen the new list of courses in development?”
“The one with Math 101, 201, 301 and …”
“Yes,” replied Mike. “Do you have any idea how long it will take to get these done?”
“It’s going at a rate of four to six weeks each,” replied Paul.
“We need more help,” came the tired tone of Mike’s voice. “You’re our top producer, and Jane wants to know if you have anyone you know there in Saskatoon that has a set of skills like yours?”
Paul listened to the muffled sound of someone calling out for their kid on Mike’s side of the line in Atlanta.
“Not like me,” said Paul. “I can put up notices here asking for someone to help.”
“Thanks,” replied Mike.
Paul felt relieved as he thought about how he had an alternative to being a counsellor. He remembered the lecture he attended in his Teaching Secondary English with a guest: BB, the lead social services manager.
“I’m Brenda Bains, BB for short,” said the middle-aged woman with fire-orange hair. Paul had seen her before in the halls of the college of Education with burgundy hair and once as a blonde.
“I’m here to tell you what your responsibilities are as teachers. You are our eyes and ears in the community,” she said as furrows appeared between her eyebrows.
“You have a responsibility to report anything that appears wrong with the students. We want to hear anything from rumors about teen pregnancy to tough family situations. We have the power to intervene, separate families, take the newborn, and solve problems before they can cause any more trouble,” said BB as the lines on her face softened.
BB was well known for taking care of things; she would have some taken away for assessments, and in other cases, she would show up on hospital wards dressed in nursing whites, even though all nurses were wearing surgical scrubs. She looked like a senior nurse on the delivery ward who brought infant name tags with predesignated names on them. She would snap the tags on the infant’s wrists moments after birth, before they were in their mothers’ arms, and carry them out.
“For those of you who are in the school counsellor program, you will find out that the school principal is not your supervisor, I am. The Department of Social Services works through the schools and I will decide whether you’re doing your job, not the principals or even the school division superintendents.” BB smiled confidently.
Paul remembered BB confidently walking up to him when he had turned down his first school counselling position and was working as a content developer and instructional designer in Saskatoon. Her mouth was turned down at the edges and furrows appeared between her eyebrows. She met Paul as he was walking up the sidewalk to the new building on Innovation Way.
“You are a high school counselor, and we had plans for you,” she said in a high-pitched shrill voice, cutting through the hiss of the prairie wind.
“I never agreed to be anything but a teacher when I was in the entrance interview,” replied Paul,
“Who cares what you wanted? You are a counselor, and that is what we invested in when we brought you into the Education degree program.”
“I paid for the degree; I had no bursary or scholarship.”
BB shook her head. “We allowed you into the program, and we let you finish.”
Paul watched as the furrows between BB’s eyes deepened. “I earned marks at the distinction level, I earned the degree, the wrong degree, and I can do anything I want with it.”
BB’s face was red as she turned and rushed away from him.
Paul dialed the number for the weekly conference call for the staff in course development at the Art Institute. The conversation was well under way:
“That’s the summary for all of the courses under development,” said Lisa, the project manager.
“Well, I would like to introduce a new member to our team,” said Jackie. “She is like Paul, from Saskatoon. Her name is Brenda, but she likes to be called BB.”
Paul felt a burning in his chest and struggled to speak.
“Where is Paul anyway?” asked Jane.
“I’m here,” said Paul.
“I will phone him right after the call and ask why he wasn’t here,” said Lisa.
“I am here,” said Paul into the receiver.
“Let’s move on,” said Mike.
“BB was able to tell a lot about Paul we didn’t know,” said Jackie. “We are looking forward to working with you. If you can do what Paul does, we will have these courses developed in no time.”
“I’ll take a look,” said BB.
“She’s not a teacher, nor an instructional designer,” said Paul, but he was unheard.
“I do have another job, so I don’t know how much I can help,” said BB.
“We sure hope you can,” said Jackie. “Paul could find some other work.”
“Why did you say that?” asked Lisa.
“Let Paul know I don’t want to speak to him again,” continued Jackie. “He can just send a note about what he needs me to do, and nothing else.”
“I’ll let him know,” said Lisa.//
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Peter Conrad’s work was a runner up in the My Dream Writing Contest 2024 and appeared in Wingless Dreamer’s 2024 anthology Summer Fireflies 2. His writing appears in LOFT Books, Issue VI, Gnashing Teeth Publishing, The Cost of Our Baggage anthology. His stories appear in over thirty literary journals including The Taborian, WayWords Literary Journal, Umbrella Factory Magazine, CafeLit, Bare Hill Review, Impulse, The Paradox Literary Magazine, In Parentheses, The Hemlock, Livina Press Golden Issue, Folklore, Novus, Half and One, Superpresent Magazine, Poor Yorick, and the Datura. His work appears in over thirty literary journals worldwide.
He has published articles and lectures in Art History for the Art Institute Online. He has the nonfiction titles Training for Victory, Training Aces and the creative nonfiction title Canadian Wartime Prison Escapes, published. Peter graduated from the University of Saskatchewan with his Bachelor of Education and an MA.
About the Author
