While I was waiting for college entrance, I saw an advertisement for a teacher in the local newspaper. The school is in the suburb of London, about 10 miles from where I live. Because I was very short of money and wanted to do something meaningful, I applied. What worries me is that I don't have a degree and no teaching experience, so my chances of getting this job will be slim.

However, three days later, I received a letter informing me to go to Creeden for an interview. This is an embarrassing trip: take the train to Creeden Station, then take the bus for 10 minutes, and then walk for at least 15 minutes.

The school is a red brick house with big windows. The yard in front of it is a factory square. Four evergreen trees are at the four corners of the square. They survived the gray smoke from the main roads of traffic.

Obviously, the headmaster opened the door himself. He is short and fat. He has a sandy moustache, a wrinkled forehead and little hair.

He looked at me disapprovingly in surprise, just like a colonel looking at a soldier without military boots. "Oh," he mumbled, "you'd better come in." The corridor is narrow, there is no sunshine, and it is full of the unpleasant smell of stale cabbage. The walls are dirty and covered with ink. Everything is quiet. Judging from the crumbs on the carpet, his office is also his restaurant. "You'd better sit down," he said, and then began to ask me some questions:

He asked me what subjects I had studied in ordinary schools, how old I was and what competitions I had participated in. Then he suddenly looked at me with bloodshot eyes and asked me if I thought competition was very important in a boy's education. I gave some vague answers and paid little attention to them. He mumbled that I was wrong. The headmaster and I obviously have nothing in common.

He said that the school consists of 24 boys aged 7- 13. I want to teach them all the courses except art, which he taught. Every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon, I play football and cricket in the park a mile away. I'm worried about the teaching setup. First of all, I will divide the class into three groups and take turns teaching based on three levels; And I'm also worried about teaching algebra and geometry, because I don't study well at school. To make matters worse, maybe Saturday is cricket, and my friends might like it.

I asked timidly, "What will my salary be?" Before I could protest, he stood up and said, "Now, you'd better meet my wife. She is the real administrator of the school."

This is my last straw. I am young: working for a woman is the biggest insult.