I figure it's been five years and the statute of limitations is now up on it, so I'll tell this story.
In the Spring of 2005, I didn't know where things were headed with my job. A few months before, I'd gotten results of my three-year review, and it hadn't gone well. Making matters worse was that our academic dean, who had been kind and patient through my many mis-steps, was retiring. There had been a close call several months before when we all thought we'd be drafted into working on something that just wouldn't have worked out. There were also these ongoing rumors about the college's financial health. Things were at the point at which I wondered: were better opportunities out there? Could I make more somewhere else, or would I have to take that second job tending bar at P.J. Calamity's? Could I get the chance to be an official, full-fledged department chair on a permanent basis? Could I get on at a place where I wouldn't have to worry about if it would still be there next year?
Back then I used to keep a job search going through the Chronicle of Higher Education's e-mail service. One day, I saw a listing for a department chair position at one of the local two-year colleges. While there was no journalism program, I did complete a cognate in history and was qualified to teach in the discipline, and I had also taught Speech courses. There was plenty enough overlap. So I applied, put as much polish on my qualifications as I could, and sent in the application.
A couple months later, I got a phone call. They wanted to schedule an interview. I shuffled a few things, found the next good date, and confirmed it with them. Later they called back. Did I want a hotel room for the night? Well, it was enough of a drive and the festivities started early enough in the morning that it wasn't a bad idea. (Plus, I mean, I'm a sucker for free lodging.) So I took them up on it.
I should have known things weren't going to go so well when I showed up for check-in and found out the room hadn't been paid for. My tour guide, one of the professors in the department, had given me his phone number, and they called him and squared it up. He had told me he'd be by at 6:30 to pick me up, show me around town a bit, and then we'd meet the rest of the faculty for dinner. And that's how it went. It was a nice dinner. The guy showed me around downtown, and I think he was a little chastened when I gently told him I was very familiar with the town, since I'd spent three years there during graduate school.
An excellent night's sleep later, I shoved off for the interview. The college at which I was interviewing had two campuses, one for each side of town. The one on the other side of town was where I was headed for the first part; it was to meet the academic dean, get a tour and meet a few folks, and then we'd go to the other campus for the interview itself. This much of it went well. The dean and I hit it off, and he couldn't have been nicer to me.
We then adjourned to the other side of town, where most of the faculty worked. I got a tour, and then a department chair from another department took me to lunch. The rationale was for her to give me a candid idea of what it's like to be a chair at this institution, and during lunch I asked her a lot of questions. I started to think that maybe this wasn't such a bad gig, and I started to daydream just a little.
Then came the interview. I was asked to teach a brief sample class, and that part of it went well (teaching the introductory part of screenwriting is always a good fallback for a quick lecture). But the question-and-answer session...well, I bungled it in a couple places. I went on through the interview, trying to do my best. But I was starting to notice some things about my potential subordinates that, well, didn't really make me that comfortable. There was a little bit of Very Serious Indeed in the air. One faculty member, I thought she was just plain cool. The rest...I could see the potential for clashes. They got earnest at times. After the interview, there was a little drop-in with finger food as a "thank you" for me, but by that point, the air was out of the balloon.
(Oh, and the kicker: At the end of the interview, I lost my sunglasses. I went back to try to get them, but the room had been locked. By the way, did I mention the interview took place on April 1?)
I drove home that afternoon trying to rationalize it. I'd gone to an interview, been treated as a guest, got a free night and some good food out of it. And, really, that was about it. I kept my options open, and wrote thank-you notes to everyone at the technical college who had been a part of my visit. I didn't want to burn any opportunities, because you never know what could happen. The greatest job offer in your life could potentially come, right? So be polite and professional.
But by the time I arrived home, I had pretty much decided that if it came down to a choice, I really wanted to stay where I was. I already had a good job. I knew my way around the place. I was comfortable with my students. I liked my work, and I enjoyed the freedom I had to innovate. I liked my colleagues' relative lack of ego. I even came to realize that not being a department chair was actually a pretty good thing, since the headaches of command often outweigh whatever prestige comes with it.
As it happened, the decision was made for me, and a letter came a couple months later informing me they'd decided to move on to another round of candidates. That was fine. I signed on for another year where I was, took the bad with the good, and things worked out okay.
It's now five years after that interview. I'm still at the same college. I'm now tenured and one of the more senior faculty members. I still have the same small, comfortable academic department, still working with folks who, for the most part, check their egos when it comes time to get things done. I work with wonderful students, have been trusted with some sensitive tasks by the higher-ups, have served in a critical position or two, and have even won an award that was an unexpected surprise and a great, great honor. It's not been a bad ride at all, and I have never had a moment's regret about staying there.
What if I'd been offered the other job, and taken it? Who knows? I could have set the world on fire and have built my own little empire, and maybe now I'd be leaving Gulfstream IVs as tips for waiters. Or maybe I'd be out of a job due to budget cuts or my own bungling. Or, just perhaps, I'd be in prison for having taken a six-iron to one of my faculty members.
But none of that matters. It turned out the way it was supposed to. There may be a danger in saying that the place you work is the place where you feel you belong, but even on its bad days, the job I now have feels like a job that was made for me. And, unless something really weird happens, I don't think I want to tinker with that.