And America's next top model is...

"Congratulations" I thought, while calculating one of my student's class average, "You are still in the running to become America's Next Top Model". Grading redos is a bitch. For lack of formal guidance as to how to conduct my school's elaborate retesting policy, I decided to come up with my own system. I have been re-teaching and re-testing for two weeks. In an attempt to comply with a system I don't wholly agree with, I have ended up giving second chances to students that most teachers would have refused and given myself un montón de trabajo. "I'm sorry, Jorge. Please pack your bags and leave" I thought, upon grading another failed test. Tapping my foot to the tune of the gas trucks, I continued tearing through the pile of tests.

"You have to sign this" instructed one of the secretaries that presented herself at the door during one of my classes. Oh God, what did I do now? Oh wait, okay, it wasn't bad, I was being sent to visit some university with the other English teachers. I had only taught two classes the day before because most of my students were on a field trip and would only be teaching a couple of classes the following day, because of my pending university visit.

We piled into Profe Enrique's car and immediately began gossiping about all of the things and people we can't talk about in the presence of others as we wheeled out of the school and onto the highway that skirts the desert. The grocery store song hummed in my head. We arrived at an attractive school after a couple of wrong turns, waited for Enrique to put the club on his steering wheel and promptly got lost within the university. "¡Miranos! ¡MIR A NOS! Profe María wailed with embarrassment. Finally, we arrived at the computer lab we that were supposed to visit.

Other teachers and administrators from various campuses of our school were there. I was surprised when a British man introduced himself as the head of languages at the university. He described his lengthy experience in Spain and ended his sentence with a little chuckle by saying "and then I ended up in...Tijuana". It was unfortunate. I don't think he meant it the way it came out but still noted an uncomfortable silence in the room after his faux pas. His description of their program was impressive and I found myself nodding and agreeing with this man while my counter parts watched with skepticism and confusion. It made me feel like an asshole. What's wrong with me? Pass months in a Mexican program and jump ship the minute I am in a room with a white man that speaks English? His program sounded very, well, American, but in the best sense of American academia. It reminded me of some of the universities I have attended, but not of the schools I have taught in. A student doesn't show a mastery of the basic concepts of a class, they fail. Yeah, the kid might be nice and have extenuating circumstances, but did he master the concepts or not?

His presentation was met with some opposition and out right lies, thankfully not by the teachers from my campus. An administrator from another campus expressed interest in the university's textbook, stating that we were considering "adopting" a new one. Profe Maria and I nearly laughed out loud. A new textbook?! How about A textbook, as our students don't have one? When the same administrator questioned our presenter about the stringency of his program, he answered her with a question. "Do you fail students?". "Oh yes, of course!" she answered, "And if they want to continue studying, the have to wait a year until the course is offered again!". Profe Maria visibly shook her head. Sorry, not our reality.

At the end of his presentation, the boss man approached me and we chatted a little about what I was doing there. He casually offered me a job. Flattered, flattered, flattered I was. A university. A university with a strong program. I found myself thinking about it. A few things slowed me down. Do I really want to keep living in Tijuana? Do I want to move to an even worse neighborhood even closer to the actual desert? Exactly how much money could I expect to send Sallie Mae on a teacher's salary in Mexico? And the biggest thing...I don't want new students. I want my students. How could I stay in Tijuana and not teach my ass wild kids?

We left feeling a little deflated, the jovial mood replaced with a little reality. We felt ghetto. His reality was not our reality. Our school is not pretty. We don't have a book. We are forced to have low academic standards and at times, no standards at all. "It's not our fault" the teachers repeated over and over again.

We returned to the school to teach our remaining classes. One group pissed me off so badly that I walked out on them. So much for professional.