Unit 4 - My First Job
Trying to make some money before entering university, the author applies for a teaching job. But the interview goes from bad to worse...
My First Job
While I was waiting to enter university, I saw advertised in a local newspaper a teaching post at a school in a suburb of London about ten miles from where I lived. Being very short of money and wanting to do something useful, I applied, fearing as I did so, that without a degree and with no experience in teaching my chances of getting the job were slim.
However, three days later a letter arrived, asking me to go to Croydon for an interview. It proved an awkward journey: a train to Croydon station; a ten-minute bus ride and then a walk of at least a quarter. As a result I arrived on a hot June morning too depressed to feel nervous.
The school was a red brick house with big windows, the front garden was a gravel square; four evergreen shrubs stood at each corner, where they struggled to survive the dust and fumes from a busy main road.
It was clearly the headmaster himself that opened the door. He was short and fat. He had a sandy-coloured moustache, a wrinkled forehead and hardly any hair.
He looked at me with an air of surprised disapproval, as a colonel might look at a private whose bootlaces were undone. 'Ah yes,' he grunted. 'You'd better come inside.' The narrow, sunless hall smelled unpleasantly of stale cabbage; the walls were dirty with ink marks; it was all silent. His study, judging by the crumbs on the carpet, was also his dining-room. 'You'd better sit down,' he said, and proceeded to ask me a number of questions: what subjects I had taken in my General School Certificate; how old I was; what games I played; then fixing me suddenly with his bloodshot eyes, he asked me whether I thought games were a vital part of a boy's education. I mumbled something about not attaching too much importance to them. He grunted. I had said the wrong thing. The headmaster and I obviously had very little in common.
The school, he said, consisted of one class of twenty-four boys, ranging in age from seven to thirteen. I should have to teach all subjects except art, which he taught himself. Football and cricket were played in the Park, a mile away on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.
The teaching set-up filled me with fear. I should have to divide the class into three groups and teach them in turn at three different levels; and I was dismayed at the thought of teaching algebra and geometry-two subjects at which I had been completely incompetent at school. Worse perhaps was the idea of Saturday afternoon cricket; most of my friends would be enjoying leisure at that time.
I said shyly, 'What would my salary be?' 'Twelve pounds a week plus lunch.' Before I could protest, he got to his feet. 'Now', he said, 'you'd better meet my wife. She's the one who really runs this school.'
This was the last straw. I was very young: the prospect of working under a woman constituted the ultimate indignity.
参考译文——我的第一份工作
为了想在进大学前赚些钱，作者申请了一份教职。但面试情况却越来越糟……
我的第一份工作
罗伯特·贝斯特
在我等着进大学期间，我在一份地方报纸上看到一则广告，说是在离我住处大约十英里的伦敦某郊区，有所学校要招聘一名教师。我因为手头很拮据，同时也想干点有用的事，于是便提出了申请，但在提出申请的同时我也担心，自己一无学位，二无教学经验，得到这份工作的可能性是微乎其微的。
然而，三天之后，却来了一封信，叫我到克罗伊顿去面试。这一路去那儿原来还真麻烦：先乘火车到克罗伊顿车站，再乘十分钟的公共汽车，然后还要步行至少四分之一英里。结果，我在六月一个炎热的上午到了那儿，因为心情非常沮丧，竟不感到紧张了。
学校是一座装着大窗户的红砖房子。前庭园是个铺着砂砾的正方形：四个角上各有一丛冬青灌木，它们经受着从繁忙的大街上吹来的尘烟，挣扎着活下去。
开门的显然是校长本人。他又矮又胖，留着沙色的小胡子，前额上布满皱纹，头发差不多已经秃光。
他带着一种吃惊的、不以为然的神态看着我，就像一位上校看着一名没系好靴带的二等兵一样。“哦，”他咕哝着说：“你最好到里面来。”那狭窄的、不见阳光的走廊里散发出一股腐烂的卷心菜味，闻上去很不舒服；墙上墨迹斑斑，显得很脏；周围一片静寂。根据地毯上的面包屑来判断，他的书房也是他的餐室。“你最好坐下，”他说，接着便问了我许多问题：为了得到普通学校证书我学过哪些课程；我多大岁数了；我会玩些什么游戏；问到这里他突然用他那双充满血丝的眼睛盯住我，问我是否认为游戏是儿童教育的一个极为重要的组成部分。我含含糊糊地说了些不必太重视游戏之类的话。他咕哝了几句。我说了错话。我和校长显然没有多少共同语言。
他说，学校只有一个班，二十四名男生，年龄从七岁到十三岁不等，除了美术课他亲自教以外，其余所有的课程都得由我来教。星期三和星期六的下午要到一英里以外的公园去踢足球，打板球。
整个教学计划把我吓坏了。我得把全班学生分成三个组，按三种不同的程度轮流给他们上课；想到要教代数和几何这两门我在读书时学得极差的科目，我感到很害怕。更糟糕的也许是星期六下午打板球的安排，因为这时候我的朋友大都会在悠闲地自得其乐。
我怯生生地问：“我的薪水是多少?”“每周十二镑外加中饭。”还没等我来得及提出异议，他已经站了起来。“好了，”他说，“你最好见见我的妻子。她才是这所学校真正的主管人。”
我再也无法忍受了。我当时很年轻：在一个女人手下工作的前景构成了最大的侮辱。
参考资料：
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