As a contract instructor, I tend to feel a bit awkward when my students refer to me as “professor.” As a “professor,” it is assumed that I have a certain status—that I am working at Carleton on a regular basis, have an office, and will be teaching again next year.
None of this is true. So, I feel the need to set the record straight.
I am not a “professor.” I am a contract instructor. And, in fact, many of your teachers are contract instructors. We are responsible for teaching nearly one-quarter of the classes here at Carleton.
Given that the average income of a tenured professor is $112,832 per year, there is considerable incentive for the university to offload teaching duties onto contract instructors who earn around $6,500 per class.
While tenured faculty get to pick and choose which fourth-year seminar they want to teach, we are disproportionately responsible for the massive 450-person lectures. We are most likely teaching in those stadium-style classrooms with a small army of TAs, and we don’t get paid any more for larger classes.
As a “professor,” it’s often assumed that I am employed in a single department. That’s not true. Currently, I teach in four different departments in two different universities. I have five different offices. Where I am depends on the day of the week.
Maybe I shouldn’t complain. I’m lucky enough to get teaching gigs in Ottawa. Some people I know have to commute to other cities in order to find work.
In fact, one of my colleagues was just talking about teaching the Monday to Wednesday shift in Montreal, meaning they have to find another place to live for three days of the week.
Even though I have three years of teaching under my belt, there are no guarantees I will get another job. If a tenured professor decides they want the course, then I’ll be booted. It’s especially bad in the summer. The limited number of courses means that you are lucky if you can land a job.
As I write this, I’m also a little bit nervous about paying my bills. I went to the dentist for a cleaning last week (I’m in my 30s now, which means that I actually have to take care of my teeth).
But contract instructors at Carleton—as opposed to other universities—have no dental insurance. That means I had to pay nearly $200 for a basic check-up and cleaning.
Along those lines, the idea of going on strike makes me especially nervous. And I really enjoy teaching.
I guess that I could go on pretending that I am a “professor.” At times, I feel a smug sense of self-satisfaction in pretending that I have such professional status. But deep down I know that it’s not true.
While contract instructors are unionized, we have no one to represent us on Senate or at departmental meetings. So it feels like I am always just passing through. And this is deeply disappointing to me.
In the end, after all this time and investment I have put into something I love, I feel that I deserve a little respect, recognition, and some semblance of security. I’m tired of living a double-life.
