You know the room: Kubrik meets Hitchcock with tropical ambience by Burton. A student sits in each of the sixty desks, the best-preserved of which would be in an American scrap heap. Many students support their work on cross-hatched splinters. And yes, there are many splinters; rather, there is much bleeding. And if someone gets nicked--teacher exempted--it means a dramatic exeunt to the nurse.
As is typical, those who know the least and are the least inclined to attend class are the largest in voice, body, and classroom presence. White skin and blond hair only get a skinny guy so far, especially since much larger guys, and all the more established teachers use canes to maintain classroom order, and caning is not in a farang's repertoire, even if I were willing to carry a cudgel. So in any class, there's a large knot of people--95% male--disinclined to be present and willing to participate only as far as dropping bombshells in Thai. I'm sure I'd be laughing, too, if my voice weren't cracked hoarse from shouting over the ambient conversations, were someone to translate.
And the ambient noise is extreme. At any given time, the web of classroom discussions receives fortification from passing friends, hams ditching class and mooning past the doorway, or guys sitting outside and chatting or flirting with students not quite brave enough to ditch class entirely. When hall noise isn't directed straight at my class, there's the inevitable roar of a thousand or so students sharing one concrete building, or recreating (or ditching) on the flagstones out front. And then there's the street, the campus PA system, the other departments on campus, the stadium next door, and the air base just beyond to boost the ambient decibels (final approach passes directly over campus, and we're close enough to the runway that a large helicopter or a low approach whips the trees into a flurry of falling branches and scattering leaves).
One of the louder hams is named X. Coming from a Thai, "X" is mainly an "Eh" vowel with some sort of consonant that could turn the word into "Ed," "Egg," or "Ek." A thai tongue has zero predilection for the English "k-s" to distinguish "X." So it's a good teaching point: everyone aspirate "Kuh," then hiss "Sss," like teacher Harry Potter is doing while spraying the front row while articulating consonants. It's exciting enough having X on the spot while I explain my confusion over Egg and Ed and eventually X, and the rubber-lipped funny faces to accompany articulation have been worthwhile enough--we've done an open-lipped "zzzzz" and a one-lip "vvvvv" and an articulated "tuh" and aspirated "T"--that I have everyone's attention. Not enough to quell the ambient conversation, but most eyes are on me, especially as we do the call back. And just as I'm about to roll from the "k-s" in "Ex" to the "k-t" in "subject," my tongue gets purchase. In a blink just long enough to make for a killer Hollywood special effect, my front teeth drop down into fangs before the glistening pink crescent of my partial goes soaring in a slow-motion arc that ricochets off the whiteboard and slides under the teacher desk.
Class was pretty well dismissed, despite lasting another 38 minutes.
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