“Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach”

“Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach” is the expression Dexter Mayhew uses to belittle teaching while discussing Emma Morley’s work. In the scene, its force comes not only from the judgment it makes about teachers but from the way Dexter introduces and completes it: tentatively, as if its familiarity might soften its insult. Emma refuses that softening. By making him say the whole sentence, she brings the implication into the open; her counterline turns the expression back on him and makes a disagreement about work the immediate cause of their rupture.

Meaning and Use

The expression divides people into two supposed groups: those who are capable of doing something and those who teach because they cannot. Its compact parallel structure gives the judgment the sound of a settled rule. The first clause grants competence to people who act; the second makes teaching evidence of failure. In this exchange, the saying is therefore more than a casual observation about careers: it dismisses the skill and value of the work Emma is describing.

The conversation makes clear what that dismissal overlooks. Emma says she is writing a book, but also has to earn a living; she adds that she enjoys teaching and is good at it. Her defense contains practical, personal, and professional claims: teaching pays her, gives her pleasure, and is work she believes she does well. Dexter’s expression answers none of these claims. Instead, it replaces her account of her own life with a ready-made ranking in which teaching signifies inability.

The Exchange

Dexter first reacts indignantly when Emma asks what he has done, and she tells him, “If you’re not interested, don’t ask.” He insists that he is interested, pours himself more wine, and asks whether she is supposed to be writing a book. Emma explains why she teaches as well as writes. Dexter responds that he is sure she is a good teacher, then trails into the expression. The hesitation matters: the insult is not delivered as a direct accusation at first, but introduced as something supposedly familiar and impersonal.

Emma does not let him leave it at an allusion. When Dexter says he is not sure she knows the expression, she asks him to tell her what it is. He evades the request, says it is unimportant, and starts to look sheepish. Emma continues to insist that he finish the sentence. Her persistence shifts control of the exchange: Dexter has raised the saying, but now has to own its wording rather than shelter behind implication. He sighs, holding a glass of wine, and says, “Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach . . .”

The pause at the end does not undo what the completed saying has done. Emma answers, “And those who teach say go fuck yourself.” Her retort borrows the expression’s repeated structure but changes its purpose. Where Dexter’s line sorts people by supposed ability, hers refuses the premise and directs her anger at the person who used it. The reply is not an attempt to continue a calm discussion about teaching; it marks the point at which she rejects both the insult and the terms of the conversation.

Consequences and Significance

The exchange immediately becomes physical and public. Emma shoves the table away and jumps to her feet, grabbing her bag; bottles and plates clatter as she climbs out of the booth and storms through the restaurant. Other diners stare. Dexter, left with wine in his lap, mops at it, placates the waiter, and follows her. The proverb’s consequence is thus more than a hurtful remark: it breaks the dinner’s social composure and sends the argument out into the view of the room.

As Emma leaves, she tries to command herself not to cry. She turns and runs, then stumbles on her high shoes as the Cigarette Girl comes down the stairs. She falls to her knees while diners gasp; the Cigarette Girl holds her elbow with genuine concern. These details extend the humiliation that followed Dexter’s remark, but they do not make the saying itself the whole explanation for Emma’s reaction. The scene specifically connects her anger to a conversation in which she has described the work she values and Dexter has answered with a formula that belittles it.

The expression’s importance lies in this collision between its casual, aphoristic confidence and its intimate effect. It sounds like a general rule, yet here it is used in response to one person explaining how she lives and works. Emma’s demand for the complete sentence strips away the protection of an unfinished hint; her answer gives the dismissal an immediate consequence. The saying is remembered in the scene not as neutral wisdom, but as the insult that makes Emma stop talking, leave the table, and refuse Dexter’s judgment of her work.