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TJ. I’m Samuel. Samuel Szajkowski.
    Samuel, I say. So Sam, is it? I guess people call you Sam?
    And he gives this little shake of his head and kind of smiles and says, no, they call me Samuel.
    And his handshake. Did I mention his handshake? You can tell a lot about a man from his handshake. You can tell a lot about a woman too. Like you. You’ve got a firm shake, a strong grip. That tells me what. It tells me that you’re a woman in a man’s job and that you can’t afford to take any shit. You’ve got cold hands, though, did you know that? It’s roasting in here but you’ve got cold hands.
    Szajkowski’s grip was as limp as his . . . I mean, it was a faggot’s handshake. That’s just an expression, by the way. It’s not derogatory. You know exactly what I mean, don’t you? It was like this. Here, hold out your hand. Just hold it out. So I’m Szajkowski and I do this.
    You see what I mean?
    So after that he’s kind of got my back up already but I don’t show it. I’m just thinking what I’m thinking about the bloke and I’m thinking, you never know I might be wrong. Turns out I wasn’t, didn’t it, but that’s another story.
    So I stick with it, I say, okay, Samuel. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samuel.
    Jesus Christ though. I mean, who calls themselves Samuel when that’s their name? It takes so bloody long. Sam. I would have liked the guy a whole lot better if he’d just let me call him Sam.
    I’m sorry but that kind of thing just pisses me off.
    Where was I?
    Right. So we’re chatting and it gets to the point where he asks me what I teach. And I just know right away that he’s gonna have some attitude about it when I tell him. I mean, with him you can tell just by looking at him that he’s never run a yard or kicked a ball or even taken his top off in the sun in the whole of his entire life. He’s what my old man would have called an intellectual, which is fine, it’s not a crime, but it seems to me that he’s also a foot and a half up his own arse.
    So maybe I get a bit defensive. Not aggressive or anything but I’m thinking, what right has he got to feel superior? And I think, okay, let’s see. How about a little test? And rather than tell him, I decide to let him guess.
    You tell me, I say.
    Sorry, he says, acting all confused.
    Go on, have a guess. What do you think I teach?
    Oh. I see. Let’s see.
    And I’m watching him and I’m smiling and he’s smiling and we both know that he knows but he’s afraid to say.
    Well, if I had to guess . . .
    Go on, I say. Just have a guess.
    If I had to guess . . .
    Just say it. You know. I know you know.
    If I had to guess, I would say . . . No, I’m going to go for . . . Yes. That’s it. TJ, you teach physics.
    Cunt.
    I mean, excuse the French, but seriously, what a cunt. I should have thumped him one right there. And he looked like he expected me to, that’s the thing. Looked like he almost wanted me to. My face, he must have been able to tell, but he didn’t flinch. He watched me, still sort of smiling, like he was just waiting for me to twat him.
    But I take a breath. I put down my glass of OJ. I edge forwards a little, just a little, and I say to him, I say, are you trying to be funny?
    And he’s all, no, no, I didn’t mean anything by it, but he did, we both know he did.
    I say, listen, Sam. I call him Sam, just to make a point. I say, listen, Sam. Don’t get smart. Don’t get above yourself. I’ve been teaching five, six years. You’ve been teaching, how many? I hold up a fist - you know, zero fingers - but also it’s a fist, which is the second point I’m making. And you’d think he’d get it, wouldn’t you? The point, I mean. You’d think he’d get it. But guess what he says next. Go on, have a guess.
    Latin, he says. You teach Latin, don’t you.
    I tell you, if it wasn’t for Bartholomew Travis that would have been the end of Sam-Samuel Szajkowski right there. And look what trouble it would have saved.
    He was