By John Herlihy

There was a time—not long ago—when a university job posting for a writing instructor asked for exactly that: someone who could teach students to write. Today, the same position arrives wrapped in a shimmering cloak of digital jargon, theoretical posturing, and institutional self‑mythology. The latest example comes from the University of Pittsburgh, which recently advertised a part‑time composition position that reads less like a job description and more like a manifesto for a new priesthood of techno‑scribes.

The role is, of course, “part‑time, non‑tenure stream”—the genteel euphemism for adjunct labor, the academic equivalent of a temp agency with better stationery. But the expectations are nothing short of miraculous. The successful candidate must possess expertise in digital rhetoric, new media studies, the cultural study of technology, the politics of digital communication, multimodal composition, web authoring, data visualization, and—why not—creative work with AI. They should also be conversant in digital humanities, science and technology studies, and critical algorithm studies. In other words, they want a scholar who can teach freshman writing and simultaneously decode the algorithmic underpinnings of the modern world.

All for a job that pays, presumably, somewhere between “modest” and “laughable,” though the posting is careful not to mention money at all. The omission is not accidental. In academia, silence about compensation is a form of etiquette, like not asking a dinner guest how much they paid for their house. But here, the silence is deafening. When a university demands a Swiss Army knife of digital expertise for a position that might pay less than a barista earns, the polite omission becomes a kind of farce.

What’s most striking is the tone. The ad is drenched in the language of innovation—“interdisciplinary,” “engaging,” “responsible,” “flexible,” “digital environments,” “computational systems.” It’s as if the university is auditioning for a role in its own marketing brochure. The subtext is clear: We are modern. We are cutting‑edge. We are fluent in the dialect of the future. And we expect our adjuncts to be, too.

But beneath the glossy rhetoric lies a familiar truth: composition programs have become the dumping ground for every new pedagogical experiment and technological anxiety. Want students to think critically about AI? Give it to the writing instructors. Want them to produce podcasts, websites, videos, and multimodal artifacts? Writing instructors. Want them to understand the cultural politics of digital communication? Writing instructors. And who better to shoulder this expanding burden than the most precarious workers on campus?

The irony is almost too perfect. Universities trumpet their commitment to digital literacy, critical thinking, and ethical engagement with technology—while relying on a labor system that is itself ethically indefensible. Adjuncts are expected to embody the future of the discipline while living in the economic conditions of its past.

This is not a critique of digital rhetoric or multimodal composition. These are legitimate and fascinating areas of study. The problem is the mismatch between the grandeur of the expectations and the meagerness of the position. When a part‑time job demands the skill set of a full professor, something has gone profoundly wrong.

The posting ends with a request for a teaching portfolio, sample syllabi, assignments, workshop practices, and student evaluations. In other words, they want proof—extensive proof—that the candidate has already mastered the impossible. It’s the academic version of asking a job applicant to bring their own desk, computer, and office chair to the interview.

Perhaps this is the new wave in higher education: a kind of performative futurism, where institutions signal their relevance by demanding that their most vulnerable employees become polymaths of the digital age. Or perhaps it’s simply pretentiousness dressed up as progress. Either way, the message is unmistakable: the university wants a miracle worker. But it’s only willing to hire one part‑time and without any of the standard benefits that should come with the job.