Ukes, Headphones and Well Decorated Walls - pt. 2

Class started ten minutes ago, students are nearly ready to begin the activity I've been explaining and modeling for them, and we are trying to resolve a few misunderstandings, when the door pops open, and in slips Randall with a friend who I have never before seen.  I nod in their direction, he returns a tight-lipped smile at me, she doesn't look up at me, and together they slip to the back of the room, trying to go unnoticed.  A couple of students try to greet them, but they just walk on by.  We are supposed to ignore Randall and his companion, and go on as if they're not there.  

Randall is a building administrator, and he is here to observe me, to monitor student learning, and to assess whether or not school-wide programs are being run in this space.  His friend is also an administrator, but from another school.  They don't need hall passes or tardy slips to get in to my class.  I had no idea that they were coming to watch. (A later check of my e-mail reveals that their visit was indeed announced that very morning.)

Students move around from classroom to hallway to cafeteria, clad in status symbols that instantly tell others about their cultural, economic, or social background.  It would be silly to pretend that adults do not do the same thing.  I argue that we just tend to bear a different set of status symbols: distinct and every bit as arbitrary as the perplexing web of meanings created by the youth cultures we share the space with.  In the above case, the status symbol was not a tangible object (such as headphones or a ukulele) but a privilege afforded to only a few individuals in the organization.

Most other people in Mead High School, youth or adult, would not have been able to do as Randall did without creating a significant disruption or without incurring some sort of retaliation from me or some of my students. His ability to go wherever he desired in the building (and do so with the expectation that his presence would not interrupt) was a status symbol.

When I was a high school student, I often observed that the perceived difficulty of a class seemed to work as a status symbol among teachers.  Teachers who were notorious for assigning crushing workloads and ruining GPAs of the brightest students on campus were also generally considered to be the best, most intelligent teachers.  Teachers who taught shop or special education were regarded as nice folks, but seemed to rank lower in the hierarchy of school power.

As a teacher in public schools now, I see things differently - I don't know if only my perception has changed with my position, if schools in general have changed, or if my school was unique in this aspect.

I'm curious: what attributes gave/give status to teachers and other adults in your school?
Popularity among students, walls covered with bright colored hard-to-find posters, advising or coaching extra-curricular activities, number of years in the institution, and advanced degrees are just a few other things that come to mind from my end.