Why Does the Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint – Beers, Jokes, and Gameboys – Part 6

My first day as a teacher could be best described as a disaster from start to finish. I’d made up my mind that there wasn’t going to be a second day – not that I’d have much choice. The was no way that I’d be able to face the school kids at Ladprao again; it also seemed highly unlikely that the private school in Seacon Square would be offering me regular work after my weak performance. I’d tried and failed. All that was left to be done was to inform Tep that we wouldn’t be living together after all; obviously I’d need a good drink first before facing that type of confrontation. Although my failure as a teacher stung there was also the relief of knowing that I could get sloshed with no worries about having to get up the next morning.

Paul the Unwilling Clown

Misery likes company, as they say, and the idea of sympathy with my beer felt like the winning combination. The guys from the night before told me they were regulars at the bar where I’d originally bumped into them. It seemed as good a place as any to go so I jumped in a taxi back to Nana. The two lads were already there when I arrived. They seemed pleased to see me. This came as a relief because I couldn’t remember leaving them – maybe I’d been out of order during that missing time from my memory. I gave a rundown of my disastrous first day and my decision to quit forever. They commiserated a little but mostly they just found the whole thing hilarious.

I found their laughter enjoyable in the beginning; it made the whole thing seem less serious. I’ve always used comedy as a way to get people to like me. Growing up I found that acting the class clown would keep the bullies off my back. The two guys were certainly getting their money’s worth out of my shitty day. The must have told everyone in the bar about my failings and the fact that I wanted to quit so soon after starting. After a while their comic routine began to grate; although I continued smiling I was seething inside. I’d been hoping for a bit of commiseration, but they were just providing ridicule.

The idea that these two clowns could make a living teaching in Thailand, while I couldn’t, bugged the shit out of me. The fact that they were now lording their superiority over me morphed my depression into indignation. I might be a bit of a drunk, but I had my pride. I began to think that maybe I was giving up too easily. Perhaps if I put the right amount of effort in to task I’d be able to feel comfortable in the classroom. I wanted to be like the teachers I’d seen during my observation class; they were controlling the students almost effortlessly. I might not have any natural talent as a pedagogue, but maybe it would be possible to become good enough.

As the evening progressed we were joined by a few other teachers; a nice little community of ex-pats who earned their beer tokens via TEFL. Even though a lot of the laughter was at my expense it was obvious that this was a fun group of lads. I was the outsider; the guy who gave up teaching in Thailand after just one day. As the beer flowed my desire to belong to this happy band of TEFL brothers grew. Perhaps I could make it through the tough days of teaching with this party crowd to help me take the edge off in the evenings.

I announced my decision to the group; I’d give teaching another go. They cheered and clapped me on the back. This new wave of optimism received an added boost when the office in Seacon Square rang me to offer regular classes. It was only a few hours a week, but considering my performance it came as a nice surprise.

The Story of Why I Said “Som Nam Naa” to a Little Boy

I felt more nervous on my second day at Ladprao then I did on my first; this time I knew what to expect. Despite drinking until after midnight I still managed to make it into school an hour before class. This gave me the opportunity to prepare a lesson. My drinking buddies had once again provided suggestions about activities, and I’d really grilled them for ideas and could remember a lot of what they’d said. I felt semi-confident that the lesson would work.

The first class of the day passed without incident. I’d been expecting the worst, and the fact that it didn’t happen made it a success. Trouble hit again during my second period. One of the students was leaning awkwardly over his desk. When I went to investigate I found that he was playing with a Gameboy. I told him to turn it off, but he just ignored me. Although I was shaking inside I grabbed the device off him and took it back with me to the desk. He sulked but made no attempt to get the game back. A few minutes later I came across another student reading a comic and I confiscated this as well. At the end of the class I called both the pupils forward and asked them to write their name and class number on a piece of paper. I wrapped these sheets around their possessions and put them in my bag.

The student who owned the Gameboy followed me out of the class. The smug expression was gone and he now had pleading eyes – “please, teacher”. The dynamics had changed and the power was now on my side. I somehow realised that if I handled this situation the wrong way it would lead to future problems. I couldn’t back down. I ignored his outstretched hands and left him hanging with the words, “maybe tomorrow”.

I had two free periods between classes so I just stuck the Gameboy and the comic in my drawer at the office desk I’d been assigned. I’d no idea what to do with the device; just leaving it in the office didn’t seem too secure. I knew that losing the Gameboy would not be a good move; this was ten years ago when a Gameboy was considered a thing of value. I noticed the Thai teacher who had observed my class the previous day and I approached him. I explained the situation and he seemed to understand. He took the Gameboy and comic book off me and put them in his own drawer; now it was his problem.

Later that day I was again confronted by the owner of the Gameboy. His English had improved dramatically over the preceding couple of hours and he was able to explain that his father would be angry if he went home without the game. I told him the name of the Thai teacher who now had possession of it. The boy’s expression changed from one of worry to pure horror. I remembered a Thai expression I’d learnt the previous night and tried it out on the student “som nam naa” – serves you right. He seemed to understand my feeble attempt at his language, and for a second I thought he might burst into tears.

The Story so Far

Why Does The Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint? – Part 1
Why Does The Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint? – Part 2
Why Does the Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Pepperment? – Part 3
Why Does the Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint – Sleepy Thai Girl -Part 4
Why Does the Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint – How Dare They Not Like Me – Part 5
Why Does the Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint – Beers, Jokes, and Gameboys – Part 6
Why Does the Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint Part 7 –The Thailand Paperwork Nightmare
Why Does the Foreign Teacher Always Smell Like Peppermint – Bad Reputation Part 8