On Perspective

I didn't say a darn thing, but it took considerable effort.

A teacher returned from a class and just about blew up upon discovering there to be too little Milo (cocoa) to complement the proceeds of the coffee bar.

I did not mention the dozen angels who love teacher as much as they fear authority, the airconditioned classroom with outlets that work, decorations, Thai assistant, access to copies and televisions and radios. I did not mention the airconditioned office with an individual desk and padded chair with an extra cushion and classroom teaching supplies and office supplies and classroom art supplies. I did not mention the computers and internet and printers. Nor did I mention the refrigerator, hot water pot, water cooler, mugs and glasses, bin of instant coffee with instant creamer and sugar or the real creamer in the fridge or the staff assigned to keep all the above full and refreshed.

On the one hand, this is Thailand, so nothing is quite right: the coffee is instant, the milk tastes like the box it came in, there's no Equal, the spoons are all dirty, the snacks are Thai-style fruit with salt, electricity and all devices dependent thereupon are consistently inconsistent. The students are kidlets with ups and downs and every class has its problem spots. The Thai teachers runneth over or run under or cut under or what have you. The TVs and DVD players are old.

On the other, it's a bear to become accustomed to something and have it removed.

I understand this.

I also understand the irony of the next teacher to walk in saying, "Now where'd I put my coffee cup? Damnit. I'll just grab another one. DAMNIT! WE'RE OUT OF COFFEE CUPS AGAIN! WHO KEEPS STEALING ALL OUR COFFEE CUPS?"

They goaded each other right to the brink of going up to the boss's office before one of the Thai teachers came in.

I left.

And I did not say a darn word.

(I realize I'm bordering arrogance or aloofness. I don't mean to be. I'm just damn proud of myself: as the sickly washout, I stepped into classroom conditions spawned by the unholy union of Dickens and Kipling, figured out a syllabus and survival tactics, and have survived thus far without blowing up or burning out worse than sitting down in disgust, and I have done it with zero classroom support. Better, I have been directly told by the head of the RP English department that I'm the best farang they've had, and--more critically--I've heard the same via two branches of the rumor mill.

And despite the myriad barriers and hangups, the reasons for--and expectations of--failing or slipping or copping out, I have said nothing negative, made no complaints, missed no classes, no morning sign-ins, and gone cheerfully about planning for more of the same next year.

And I am damn proud of it.)