Men in black

The appointment was for 4pm – a chance phone call from an 'English school' looking for a mother-tongue teacher. Why we were meeting in a deserted car park instead of the imagined plush offices of the school was a mystery to me, as this meeting would indeed turn out to be. At 4pm sharp, a BMW screeched to a halt metres in front of me sending up a cloud of dust that circled wildly as I tried to make out the face of the driver. The car door opened and out stepped a tall man dressed in a black suit wearing dark sunglasses. He looked around nervously before striding towards me, arm outstretched. “Julia?” he queried without preamble. “Yes, pleased to meet you. Can I ask….” but he held up his hand to silence me and beckoned me towards the boot of his car which he deftly opened displaying a row of files and a large black briefcase. “You start next week. The details are in here”. Again he looked around suspiciously, the expression in his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses. I glanced around also half expecting a spray of bullets from a passing hitman. This was more like a scene from some Russian gangster movie or a sequel to the Godfather. All I wanted was a few innocent hours teaching English but had visions of becoming embroiled in some international racket. “Er, how many students are in the class?” I ventured. “A small group” he answered vaguely. “…and their level?”. He scanned the horizon behind my left ear “Ah” he waved his arm dismissively “You’ll find out when you start”. I tried again “and what exactly do they want to focus on?”. I sensed these questions were a trifle annoying for him and obviously didn’t want to push him too much “Do a bit of this and a bit of that” he clarified. In my mind, I visualised my Scheme of Work for the course headed up in bold and underlined “A bit of this and a bit of that”. “Look”, he interrupted, clearly having had enough of these “irrelevant” questions “Read through these contracts, sign them and send them back to me. At the end of the course, the firm will pay you, then you pay me, right?”. A somewhat irregular arrangement, I nodded dumbly. “All clear then? This is the amount you’ll be paying me” he jabbed a finger at a figure at the bottom of the contract. “Fine” I gulped. “Er, about the company, what sort of …..” but before I’d had a chance to finish my question, he was back in the car “You’ll be hearing from me…” and with that, he was gone. I was left clutching my contract in the middle of this deserted car park. Mmm, clearly a reputable well-established school. I sighed. My accountant would definitely not be happy with this set-up…