Ground Control

What was that loud cracking sound? Why was I on the ground? My leg hurts. I'm on the ground. I'm on...the...ground? Cars. Get up. cars. Erik, where's Erik? Yellow light. Get up. My head, helmet. The bike is by my feet. I'm on the ground. Where's Erik? Get up. My hands, where are my hands? The ground? get up.

I scrambled to my feet, the wet pavement making impressions on the palms of my hands like scales. I looked around. Cars, bikes, we're going to get hit. Erik. Erik is talking to...other people? People...on the ground? That's when it hit me, we had been in an accident.


It was a good dinner to unwind from the first day of work. We both experienced stressful situations and unplanned occurances seemed to have crept into both of our days. We had waited out the rain by means of a hot fudge sundae and a hot cocoa, the same kind my Aunt Kay used to make. Just sipping it had brought me back to cast iron gas stoves with the smell of the gas wafting with real chocolate warming up on the burner. The rain had calmed and I held close to Erik, the warmth of his body warding off the goose bumps that seemed destined to take over. We cruised through town talking of lesson plans we still had to make. As we approached the road to our house, Erik insisted I wave to the woman on the corner at her food stand. He had eaten there the other day and had made friends with the owner/cook and the patrons. As I turned to wave we came to the branch of our road.
“Did she see you?” Erik asked as he stopped at the T to our road placing his feet firmly on the ground. The blinker shone a bright yellow, illuminating the wall to our right and reflecting off the damp leaves of the trees and bushes.
“No, but a lady sitting there did. She waved to me. She looked really nice and excited to see us.” I told him as I looked down our road.
We waited for the oncoming traffic to pass, and then started to make our turn. The next thing I knew I was on the ground, my helmet had just slammed onto the pavement and my neck jerked with the shock. Yellow blinking lights shone off the wet pavement and the neon green bike was lying at my knees. I jumped up to get out of the road as I saw Erik go towards the others. Who were they? How many were there? What the hell just happened? The bike lay on the ground, its front wheel touching the side of another. My eye was immediately drawn to a small child, was he hurt? Then I saw a woman and a young man, maybe a teenager. Wait, the woman is holding her stomach, God, she’s pregnant. My knee started to sting and I quickly checked as I heard Erik ask them if they were okay. A truck that was behind us stopped and blocked the traffic. It seemed like there were lots of people stopped. All 3 of the others weren’t wearing helmets. God, had my head hit?
“Molly, move the bike.” Erik instructed. Dazed, I lifted the bike up and moved it to the side, the blinker still going.
“You okay? Okay?” Erik asked the couple standing at their bike. The little boy was in the road so I told him to come over and I checked him, “Are you okay?” I asked giving him the thumbs up. Scanning him, there was no blood.
“What happened?” The lady from behind us in the truck asked.
“We were here,” Erik said stepping into the road, “I was stopped and my blinker was on. We were turning. We live right there.” He gestured down the road.
“Okay. Okay. I saw. He come on side?” she asked.
“No, on this side. I turn,” he made the action of steering the bike, “and he hit me. Here. Like this.” He made a T bone collision with his hands. “Are you okay?” He asked the people again as they stood huddled together.
The lady spoke to them in Thai and they nodded, moving towards their bike.
I sighed as they took off. If she hadn’t been there to communicate, god knows. What would happen? Thai police? It wasn’t our fault. My knee stung and my hand throbbed as I climbed back on the bike. We wheeled toward our house, the neighbors out in an ogling pack.
“You okay?” They asked.
“We’re okay.” We answered, “Shaken.” One of the neighbors walked to us, checking my hands and asking if we were okay and what happened. We looked over the bike and made our way inside, recapping what had happened. Gosh, good thing we were wearing a helmet. Helmet 2 points. Blinker none. I just wanted to get inside.

Update to: What a day...

Like wearing a cloak woven with threads of worry, doubt, despair, sadness, grief, and misery we felt heavy as she told us the news, "He, she, uh, is dead." Our bodies, crushed by the news, made for weak legs and lead hearts.
She saw us from up the street as we mounted the motorbike on our way out. Dressed in her police woman uniform, obviously an officer of caliber with her many decorations gracing her chest and shoulders, she walked towards us.
We both had a sinking feeling all week. Driving past the house each day, we looked. For the first few days, we looked and saw emptiness. But as the week continued, we noticed that there were several cars at the house. That's what worried us.
As she approached I removed by helmet, walking towards her, "how is everything?"
She told us the sad news, her eyebrows furrowed.
"I think it okay you come. Saturday, uh...you come. I think okay. Twelve, twelve o' clock, ka. she, uh he, dead." Her hands palm up to the sky.
"We are so sorry. Are you okay?" we asked her, my hand to my heart.
"Thank you." she said as she held my face in her hands kissing me on the cheek.
As she walked away, the weight grew and we fell into an introspective silence.
It was like hitting a wall.
"We did everything we could." Erik said as we took off.
"I hope so. I just think, should I have done something different?" I ask into the darkening sky pregnant with storm.
"I don't know, Molly. I don't know."

What a Day...and Evening.

“Oh, uh… my huhband…” she stuttered in a panicked search for English words.
I rose from my chair to see what was happening. Erik was already at the screen door, smiling at first, but now his face twisted in confusion and worry. He opened the door, stepping outside and onto the warm veranda as she scurried toward the gate of our house.
“…My huhband. Uh, he fall. Help. You help me. Oh…” She spoke in a rushed urgency. It took a second to sink in.
“Your husband?” Erik asked.
“Is he hurt? You need help?” I added.
“You help me, please. Help.” She tugged at us with begging eyes. Her face, in a panicked desperation, was framed by her hair still pulled into a loose chiffon from work.
“Okay, okay. We’re coming.” Erik said as he followed her across and up the street to her house.
“Come on!” He shouted over his shoulder as I stood, shocked, for a millisecond. Dazed and trying to grasp what exactly was happening, I froze momentarily in thought. Shook by his call, I dashed into the house and grabbed my phone. Running barefoot up the road, my teacher skirt flipping in the wake of my dread, I reached the house. The woman was frantically opening up the backdoor of her car and pulling things out. She was wild with flustered immediacy. Erik stepped in to help and she grabbed my wrist, “You come. You help me. My huhband. Help.” I had no idea what I was stepping my bare feet into. We flew through the doors of the house in a surreal out-of-body experience and stopped as we entered the kitchen, heavy with earthy smells. I paused when I saw her husband lying on the floor. His body was sprawled, belly up, behind the pale blue kitchen table. With only a white cotton undershirt on, his lower half was exposed-- blue shorts tangled around his ankles. She quickly threw a dish rag onto his exposed genitals as she reached for me to come closer. Time froze. The sound of my breath echoing in my ear as I looked for his chest to rise in time. I automatically began to assess the situation, scanning the area for any piece of furniture or evidence that could whisper what had happened into my ear. My God, he was foaming at the mouth. His body, slightly shaking, had lost control and bodily fluids surrounded him as he gyrated uncontrollably. His shirt was soaked in urine, sweat and saliva. Feces trailed down his leg. I focused on the foam frothing in a yellow discharge from his mouth. It had air bubbles; he was breathing.

Erik came back into the room and just as time had stopped, it begun to speed up; everything moving like lightning flashes. I stood there clutching my phone as the wife huddled over the body. What was the number for 911 here? God damn it.
“You lift my huhband. Please.” She beseeched, her mind racing with fear.
“Okay, okay. We can lift.” I said as I approached the body of her husband. I came around the edge of the table to the crown of his head as Erik went to his midsection.
“Molly, get his head.”
“Alright, I got it.” I answered as Erik heaved the man’s fluid soaked body up and into his arms. My hands slipped on his slime covered forearms and I cradled his soggy head in my hands trying to stabilize his neck. The wife whimpered as she followed us out the house with the occasional “Okay, okay.” As she tried to gather herself.
“Step.” I instructed Erik as we came out of the house and into the car-park, the man’s head still in my hands with my arm bracing his shoulders. Erik breathed heavily as he carried the brunt of the limp body. We reached the backseat door of the car and in a split second decision I climb backward into the seat, his shoulders and head resting on my chest and upper arms. The leather gripped my moist skin and I tore across the seat, forcing my skin to move with me as I pulled his body in with mine. Erik pushed him up and into the car, placing him delicately across the seat. As I reached the other door, my sense of smell kicked in and the car became a pungent tomb. I popped open the other backseat just as the wife came with a pillow. I jumped out and she quickly substituted it under his head as I walked around to Erik.
“You, come with me. Please. You come.” She called hurrying into the house, her cell phone to her ear.
“She wants us to go with her.” I looked at Erik in awe and disbelief at what was happening. Should we?
“Go with her? To the hospital?” He asked as he tried to pull the man’s shorts up a little higher to save his dignity.
“I don’t know. I guess.” I climbed into the passenger seat to assist. The woman was still milling around her house in a panic looking for things and grabbing last minute needs. Like an unexpecting husband at the moment of labor, she rushed with lost cause.
“Here, just close the door.” Realizing that it wasn’t going to work I picked his legs up and held them into the car, “shut the door.”
“You got him?”
“Yeah, go.”
He shut the door and the wife came out. “Okay, okay. You come you come with me.” She said to us as she circled the car hemming and hawing, her hand to her forehead in despair.
“Umm. Okay.” I said as a million things raced through my mind, “Call ambulance?” I asked thinking that it would be better if she didn’t drive in this state of mind.
God, shouldn’t we call the ambulance? What the fuck’s the number? What the fuck’s the number. Oh, God, why don’t we have the number? Go with her? Is it safe? Should I go? Should I follow? No, someone should be with her. But what if she can’t drive right now? Wear my seatbelt. She needs someone. Should I go? Just go. I need to go with her.
“Do you want me to drive you to the hospital? I asked as she threw a pile of towels over her shoulder onto his exposed body.
“Nono. With me. I am a police woman in Pang nga. No problem. I am a police, please. You come wit me.” She floundered as she dug through her purse, “Where are my keys? Oy, my keys. Where are? Where are?” She yelped as she hustled back into the house to find her keys.
Erik pulled up on the motorbike, “Why don’t you call 9-1-1?” he asked.
“Because I don’t know the number!” I howled back at him.
“We’ll follow her?”
“Okayokayokayokay you comewithme.” She said as she pulled my arm with a nervous chuckle.
“No, she wants us to go with her.” I called to Erik in the road.
“With her?”
“With you? In the car?” I double checked.
“okayokayokayokay.mmmmm.” She answered.
Okay.” I said to her. “She wants me to go with her.”
As she locked the front door to her house I said, “I borrow your shoes.” And I slipped on a pair of red wedges.
Climbing into the car, unsure and scared but with Erik behind me, I was worried. God, was I worried.
“You come. Yeah. He okay?” She equally half asked to me and to herself.
I fastened my belt and turned to her husband. His belly rounded up to his chest and the foam at his mouth was gathering in a pool by his neck. His legs quivered and his right arm slightly shook. It was the first time I thought: seizure. My God, he’s having a seizure. I took one of the thrown rags and began to wipe his mouth so that the foam wouldn’t block his breathing. This was probably the last place I wanted to be, but she needed someone.
“He okay? He okay?” she cried, fumbling at the gear shifts.
“He’s okay. He’s okay. Breathing. Good.” I soothed as I watched his quaking body and gently wiped the spittle that oozed from his white crusted lips.
“I am police woman in Pang nga. I gone for one week. He, oh. Don’t know, don’t know. He okay?” “He’s okay.” I repeated as I watched his convulsions. Please, stay with me buddy, I pleaded to myself as I glanced out the rearview window at Erik pacing behind us. She turned down winding roads, passing cars as I attended to her husband wedged between the two front seats and rotated behind.
“Your husband okay behind?” She asked of Erik.
“Yes, he’s there. Don’t worry. It’s okay.”
Traffic jammed up at intersections as it was a busy time of day. Cars in Thailand usually find themselves bumper to bumper while motorbikes weave between the lanes. Erik scooted ahead yelling, “Hospital!” as we tried to maneuver through oncoming traffic.
He miraculously stopped all cars at some points and we cut through, only to find another clogged up motorway. My attention focused on the husband. He began to choke and chortle and without thinking, I unbuckled my belt and whipped around to adjust his head. I turned it to the side, draining out the pooled up saliva and lifting his head back on the pillow, but I quickly removed it as his tongue slipped back. Re-clearing his airway I propped his head with chin up and removed all the built up guck. Oh, god. Stay with us. You’re okay. You’re okay. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I coached as we wheeled through intersections. Trapped at a light, I could see the sweat roll down the wife as she began to get panicked and restless hitting the steering wheel with the heel of her hand.
“He’s okay. Okay.” I told her as my face screamed otherwise out the window to Erik. I stared at him, tears coming to my eyes. The husband was slipping, he began to quake more violently, and I didn’t know how much longer he would make it. Please get us there. Get us there. Be there. Be there. Erik whizzed ahead and got the attention of a traffic patrolman and the officer stopped traffic to let us through. We were close. If he could just hold on a little bit longer…
We were within spitting distance of Wichira Hospital when traffic became impassable. Erik tried to clear the way, but traffic had no idea of the severity of the situation. The wife panicked and took a turn.
“Wichira Hospital?! Right there!” I demanded.
“No, Mission, better. Thai Hopital.” She cried the sweat beading on her neck. I put my hand on her shoulder as I leaned over to the back seat, my other hand holding her husband’s mouth open and the tongue down. God, don’t be far, I begged.
We finally made it to the hospital after watching the red traffic light count down until it turned green, every second an eternity. When we reached the front door of the hospital, the EMTs came out and put him on a stretcher and whisked him inside. “You stay wit me?” She whined.
“Yes. Of course. We stay.” I told her, “no problem.”
“Thank you, thank you.” She called as she stumbled into the hospital to find her husband. “You stay.”
Erik met me inside in the waiting room. Sullen faces looked at the two farang that had entered with the hysterical Thai woman, both smelling like feces. Erik went to the washroom to clean his shorts while I sat in a blue, plastic, bowl chair watching the wife’s purse as she talked with doctors.
“My huhband. He go to Wichira Hopital. Seri-os conditon. I am police woman in Pang nga. Not home for one week. My huhband, oh.” She got up to check again.
She called her family from her cell phone and told us that they were going to meet her at the next hospital. The doctors and nurses got ready to transport the husband and I watched as they placed him onto the stretcher. All three of us walked to the ambulance and she stood confused and not knowing what to do.
“You go. I’ll drive your car to Wichira Hospital.” I told her. Hesitant at first, she gratefully went with her husband, “oh, thank you thank you.”
I pass Erik climbing on his bike as I stride to the car. It smells incredible and I try to put the windows down but only the back two obey. As I climb in I have to push the seat back to adjust to my legs and grip the shifter in my left hand- left hand- no problem. I pop the car into 1st as the ambulance whizzes past me and follow it into the street. Trying to find the blinkers, the windshield wipers swish on as I switch to the left lane. Erik whizzes past me and yells to turn on the blinkers. I would if I could find them. I quickly glance around and finally push on the hazards and turn off the wipers following the ambulance and honking my horn. Realizing that I don’t have to rush, I slow down and go carefully. Entering Wichira, Erik calls to me to park in a spot he had just seen someone pull out of. I reverse into it in one fluid motion. We enter the hospital and find ourselves surrounded by signage that is all in Thai with no idea where they could have gone.
We ask the front desk,” Do you know where the people on stretcher,” they stare blankly at us, “ambulance from Mission Hospital, just came in…” they continue to stare. “Uh, woman, man sick. Hospital came in here.” We mimic to them and they have no idea. “Okay, thank you. We tell them as we decide to venture on our own. We end up passing by a door just as the wife turns down the hall and she waves to us. Giving her back her keys, we ask about his condition.
“Can you stay wit huhband? I have to…uh, um…” she gestures signing and we tell her yes of course. A little while later he is wheeled out of Tomography and brought down to Emergency. We follow the four, white uniformed staff and stretcher and meet her on the way. She clutches my hand, “Now, you good friend. Good friend. Thank you.”
“No, problem, ka.” I tell her quietly, “You okay?” I ask
“Ka. Okay.” She answers while squeezing my fingers as we walk behind her husband’s stretcher. He is wheeled into a private room in the Emergency area and she tells me to sit. I do, as does Erik, and we wait. Her husband is on oxygen which a nurse is hand pumping into him as another holds an I.V. high into the air. We sit as she talks to the doctors and two people walk in and greet her. It is her brother and sister in law whom she called earlier. They have come to meet her. We introduce ourselves and they thank us. Now that they are there she is okay and we are thanked and told we can go. We leave with warm wishes, “Now, you good friend. I come to your house to visit you. I will come and tell you.” She tells us as she walks us to the doorway of the hospital.
“No problem. We hope he is okay. Good bye, ka.” We wai as we make our way to the motorbike. Climbing aboard, I look toward where we had departed. They wave as they turn to walk inside and we breathe a surprised sigh of relief with a tinge of worry as we wheel back toward home.

Girl, You Need To Find a J. O. B.

Enter an amplified state of exhaustion and pile on another coconut shell spoonful of stress... That's right folks, it's job-hunting time. So right now I'm currently at Molly-0 Schools-7. Who would have thought getting a job teaching English would be so darn hard? Well, anyone who had already tried I suppose.
I currently graduated from TEFL International in Oct. Where I gained my TESOL (teaching English to Students of Other Languages) certification and have since made Phuket, Thailand my home. This cozy little island off the West coast side of the Malay penninsula has everything one would want: beach, sun, city atmosphere, night-life, culture, shopping. You name it, it's probably here... Except a job at the moment, and that's where you find me.
It took a lot longer than anticipated to get a CV (or resume' to those in North America) ready and rearing to go. It seemed like every time I thought I had it ready, I would find something else either missing or incorrect. But eventually, I had a nice grouping of seven packets.
I woke up bright and early, but not bushy tailed as the stress of finding a job has left me restless. I rose to the meep meep, meep meep of my little silver-framed alarm clock. It was time to go hunting. I rolled out of bed and groped my cool linoleum floor for my glasses. Clumsily, I put them on as I stagger stepped into the sunlit corridor; its yellow walls intensifying the glow.
By 9 o'clock I was out the door. Just as I had planned. I had my trusty bag filled with CVs and examples of lesson plans I had already done during my training. After some encouraging words from my partner, and reassurance that I looked the part of teacher, I hopped on my silver and black Honda Wave 125 motorbike. Latching my helmet I waved goodbye as I tried to master the art of driving a motorbike with a skirt on. Knees tucked together in a point, I turned the corner and was officially on my way.
First stop, the international school. I had scoped it the night before and was sure of where to go. As I pulled off the pseudo Thai highway of criss-crossing vehicles and obscene honking of horns I took a deep breath and prepared myself. School number one, knock em' dead. I parked my bike and shot a quick glance in the side-view mirror. It was only 9:30 a.m. but the sun gets hot quickly here and I was already sweating around my hairline. A quick fluff and a smoothing of the skirt found me inside the doors of the school. Luckily, the office was right inside the entrance so I popped in, smile plastered on.
"May I help you?" the Thai secretary asked as she and three others attended to a large bulletin sign.
"Yes, I was wondering if you were hiring any English teachers?"
"Um, right now we are fully staffed."
"Oh, okay," I pondered back, a little disappointed. "Could I leave my CV with you in case you have an opening?" The secretary gave an audible groan as she tried to fit my words into a sentence that made sense to her. With a smile she motioned to someone behind me.
"Hello. Yes, we are full at the moment," a teacher using the copier answered the confused Thai's response.
"Alright, well could I leave my resume with you?" I asked cheerily. Great! Someone who could speak English well. This was looking up.
"You should talk to George." She said as she peeked her head around the office door and spied into the hallway. "George, do you have five minutes for this lovely lady?" She asked him aloud. George, however, made no sign of acknowledgement and left me there smiling like a doofus waiting for a response that wasn't to come. "Just go talk to him. Why don't you go? Go on." She encouraged with her spiky hair and metallic eyeliner defining her large eyes. So I did.
I approached him and took the que to sit as he waved his hand toward the table. I anxiously pulled out one of my very best copies of my CV. He looked it over while rubbing his temples. At times during our small talk he would look to the side as if in deep thought. A large man, probably in his fifties, George was obviously the principal of the school. His glasses strung around his neck and higher than thou air about him festering the hallway in which we sat. Was he wondering if I was the right person? Should I have answered something differently? I left with the possibility of a part-time job and and opening of a position next year. Basically, nada. He had my CV. He would call. Uh, huh.
Not letting myself get discouraged I stuck my helmet on and cruised down the dirt road and back out into traffic. Rolling the accelerator back I whipped into the stream of traffic. With a quick toe-tap shift I was into fourth gear and cruising at a steady 80 Kilometers an hour. I finally reached the U-turn opening and took the chance with a slight break in traffic. This was precious time today! I had to land a job. With an inner debate of where to go next, I decided that I should once again improve my CV. Luckily, I was near my TEFL school and since I paid them good money to go there I figured I could go do a quick touch up on their dime.
With new copies of my resume and fixed copies of my diploma, my deflated ego once again returned to normal. The next school on my list was one that my land lady had told me about. I cruised across town and into the neighborhood of where it should have been. Behind dusty industrial trucks and swerving vendor motorbikes, I finally made my way onto the correct street. With my head craned reading passing signs, I found myself at the end of a road leading to the Phuket Solid Waste Disposal Department. Um, not the school. I remembered her mentioning a blue sign and as I turned my bike around into oncoming traffic, I saw it. Well, it was blue but written all in Thai. Here goes nothing. What do I have to loose? Worst case, I find the back entrance to the Solid Waste Department.
As I roared down the street, my head angled to read all the signs, I felt myself take flight. Only after landing the jump off the speed bump did I notice a guard at a gate with yet another blue sign. She had said a blue sign. The guard smirked as I pulled up all knobbly-kneed, my toes pointing to the ground holding my bike straight as I tried to inquire if this was the appropriate building. "Is this a school?" I asked him. He answered by scratching his head. Okay, right. That tells me that he doesn't speak English. Let's try this, "English? School? Office?" He muttered something incomprehensible and I smiled, "Thank you." And carried on my way. If it wasn't the school, I'd turn around. If it was, score. As I approached the first building I saw kids in their tell-tale blue uniforms. Nice one, Molly. Now, Where the heck do I go?
I parked my bike to the side and climbed off. Placing my silver, baseball-hitter's helmet into the front basket (where the Thais usually have their dogs), I gave another quick glance in the mirror and a flap of my shirt to dry the beaded sweat down my back. Here goes school number two. I scanned the building and decided that the second floor may hold some answers as the sign above read: Multi-Language Center. I found myself looking into classrooms and admiring some wonderful craft-work from the students until I reached a doorway with the sign, Foreign Language Resource Library. Hmmm. Potential. Children rushed by me on the stairs as I debated if I should go in. The tinted window only gave hints at what was inside and the shoes lining along the wall were all adults, not like the other rooms with the brown and black school issued canvas runners. A lady came out and I took a deep breath, "Excuse me. Do you know where Lamp is?" (Lamp was the contact name my land lady had given me.) She pointed inside the room. "There?" She nodded and I thanked her as I kicked off my shoes and placed them alongside the others.
Fixing my hair one last time, I pushed open the large door and was hit by the wonderful air-con. I entered a large room where several people sat at wooden desks and shelving filled one side. I had no idea what my contact looked like or where she'd be. I just knew her name. Two people were arguing in front of me and I stood there awkwardly by the door waiting to be helped, but not wanting to interrupt. When my presence could no longer be ignored, the woman turned to me, "Can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm looking for Lamp?" I answered in a very sweet, I'm-very-sorry-for-interrupting way.
"I am her." The short Thai woman answered quizzically. She must have been wondering how the heck I knew her name and why.
"Nee is my land lady and she gave me your name. I am an English teacher. I was wondering if you were hiring any English teachers at the moment." All eyes in the room wee on me. I'll tell you the pressure sure mounts when everyonein the room is evaluating you and not just one person.
"Oh, okay," she smiled, "sit. I'll be right with you." Great. Here I am. This has to be good. I half asked and answered questions in my head, half listened to their heated debate if whether the teacher's test was too difficult for the students as I waited nervously on the brown, leather couch. After their discussion was over she came to me and looked over my CV. By this time I was ready to land this job. I wanted this job. I talked about my experiences in Burlington teaching younger children while also describing my time with older students at the Young Vermont Writers' Conference and TEFL. I shot out examples of teaching, she asked about my hobbies. I introduced my diplomas and certifications, she gave me an application to fill out. She told me about the possibility of a position and would I be willing or able to teach different subjects such as Science. Of course I would. I gave her examples of my lesson plans, and she photocopied them. I even saw one of my former classmates who was now employed there and she gave a good word for me. I left feeling good about the job, but uncertain. I'm still clutching my phone waiting for a call.
It was almost lunch time and I was determined to squeeze in another before I met my partner for lunch. As I was chugging along towards a school I had in mind I glanced to my right to double check that the lane was clear and spotted another school. Ah, hell. I thought to myself. Why not. It's close and I probably won't make it to the other before lunch. How awkward would that be?
With a break in traffic I turned my bike around and entered the gate of the school. Parking my bike on the side and taking another deep breath, I gathered up my bag and put on a smile as I walked towards God-knows-where the office was. I approached an old man in what seemed like an office, " Excuse me, are you hiring an English teacher?" He and another woman to his right exchanged confused glances at each other. Okay, let's try again, " I am an English Teacher. Do you need one?" Nothing. "I have a CV. Would you like it?" My temperature was rising with half embarrassment and the creeping feeling of awkwardness. They looked at each other and spoke in Thai. I stood, once again, like a doofus, smiling. They lead me across the green behind the building. I walked feeling like an outsider (Christ, could I be more of an outsider?) past open windows where lectured students giggled and pointed at me. I was like an Ostrich in a city in New England- quite an odd site.
I was lead to a cafeteria like structure where six teachers sat eating. Oh, God. Exactly what I didn't want to happen. An angry looking Principal shot piercing eyes at me as I was introduced-I think I was introduced- to him. I tried again, "Hello, are you hiring an English teacher?" I asked. All eyes were on me and whispers from the chowing Thais hunkered at the table burned my already red ears.
"English teacher? Yes." He answered as sternly and bitter as humanly possible. He motioned for me to sit at one of the long tables.
"Here is my CV. I was wondering if you needed an English teacher." I said as I handed it to him.
"Ah," he moaned as he placed his specs on his eyes.
"I recently graduated from TEFL." I added, trying to communicate something.
"We have teacher. Come two days one week. N.A. You know? N.A.?"
"No, Sorry. I don't," I confessed.
"In Patong. How long you in Phuket?"
"Almost three months." He got up, throwing my CV onto the table as a line of tee-heeing children donned in green shirts marched in. The made eyes at me. Some hid behind their friends. I smiled back at them while begging to be struck dead by lightning in my head. He returned and told me to follow a different teacher to get an address. I thanked him for his time and followed the man through the line of children. We came to a door where a loud speaker was blaring out instructions in Thai. I waited while he went inside to retrieve the address of N.A. (whatever that was) for me. The first man I had approached came up to me and asked me if I spoke Thai. I told him no, only a little and he laughed. Then he pondered something for a minute into the air and turned to me, "This school...No good. No money."
Wow, okay. "Thank you. Um," What do you say to that? I took it as my cue to leave as I could see the other man hiding inside the room waiting for me to go. As I was saying goodbye to him, two boys approached and he told them to say hi to the Farang. "Hello, Teacha'" one said. The other, the more daring of the two cleared his voice, "Good afternoon," and stuck out his hand to be shook. I shook and replied, "Good, afternoon. Nice to meet you too. Goodbye."
I walked away wishing that I could disappear. Where was that magic fairy dust? I just wanted to shrivel into my shoes and walk unnoticed. As I approached my bike the two boys came running up to me. "For you Teacha," the daring boy told me as he held out a cup of soggy, cold fries drizzled in ketchup towards me. "For me?"
He smiled. "Thank you." I said as I walked to my bike and they giggled off to a bench. I placed them, in the basket under my book bag as I mounted my bike to drive off. He ran back up to me, extending his hand. I shook my head and said, "No, High five!" and slapped him five as I gunned my bike and tore-ass out of there thinking, hey, at least the kids like me.
To be continued...Still to come: The rest of the day. ergh.

Vegetarians Gone Wild

Dedicated to Joshua- 'The Violent Veg'

If I had to imagine what it would be like to be at the scene of a bombing, I now know what I would draw up:

It was a beautiful early morning. I woke up to the sounds of distant drummings and loud explosions. Wearily, I got dressed and exited the safety of the guest house. The street was lined with white and yellow shirts that glowed in the hot sun. A table sat in the entrance covered with a red silk cloth. On top were several kinds of fruit (pineapples and oranges primarily), candles, incense, and little cups of tea. As I peered down the street, my hand blocking the brightness of the sun, I came to count about ten other tables along the street all bearing the same gifts. These gifts were offerings to the possessed participants of the parade. If the owner of the table was lucky, one of these people would stop and bless them, maybe even drink their tea or give them a blessed pineapple.

I tried to find some shade to watch the parade as the sweat rolled down the crease of my back. I had heard about the Vegetarian Festival, been hearing about it since I arrived in Phuket Town. I even experience a little of it yesterday upon arrival with it's yellow flags waving in the slight breeze and the streets lined with booths selling all kinds of fried vegetarian treats. Spring rolls, coconut pancakes, fried fritters, noodles, and dough balls perfumed the air with the sweet smells of a fair. One only had to follow their nose to find the celebration.

The Chinese believe that on the ninth lunar month, if you abstain from all substances (meat, sex, alcohol, drugs), that it will bring you prosperity and good luck in the coming year. This celebration also embraces the nine Chinese Gods. Participants allow their bodies to become vessels and at any point can become, in a way, possessed. There are all kinds of rights performed at the temples including: firewalking, blade ladder climbing, dragon dancing, self-mutilation and more. The participants are protected by the gods from any scaring and bleeding from the mutilation and in the end, walk away not harmed.

With my back against the concrete wall of a cafe', I watched the beginning of the parade. People marched by with banners lined with switches from saplings, possessed beings walked along the parade path adorned in silk robes and multi-colored tunics, their heads shaking from side to side and their body all a quiver with a posse of five or six following close by. After watching this for quite some time and meeting back up with Erik, we decided to walk against the current to see what else was happening in the parade and along the streets leading to the five different Chinese Temples.

And that is when it happened. We took a left turn up the road and walked along the crowded sidewalk until we came to an open motorbike shop. The shop was similar to a two door garage, its motorbikes shoved far into the corners. This allowed for some standing room so Erik and I paused to survey the scene. All of a sudden a commotion broke out, and people were yelling and dashing into corners, hiding behind poles, other people, telephone booths... it all happened in a matter of seconds. My body was in slow motion. My brain was processing what was happening while my body slowly shifted to the right, rotating on my right foot and moving toward a corner of the shop. It's a bomb. What's happening? Why is everyone taking cover?I slid into the space, my head still facing the direction of the chaos, still trying to figure out what was happening. As I reached my spot I heard the explosions, my eyes locked with Erik's as he stooped along the perimeter, a grin across his face.

My ears were ringing with the constant explosions, and Erik's grin told me that it was okay. I fumbled with my camera, debating on whether to cover my ears or to take a picture. The crowd was dispersed and revealed a group of men, their shirts wrapped around their heads carrying a small box with an object inside on a kind of throne. It's four poles held by four men each cradling the figure of a god on top. Long bamboo poles entwined with strings of fireworks were being lit and held over the figure. Some dropped large clusters of fireworks onto the figure itself while the men bobbed up and down in a kind of dance. The eight o'clock sky darkened with the smoke making it hard to breath. I held my shirt over my mouth mimicking others. With the holes in the crowd, pieces of shrapnel came flying towards me. I was being hit by tiny specks of exploded fireworks. Luckily I still had my sunglasses on, protecting my eyes from the debris that struck my face. I was torn between saving my hearing and taking photos. As I was trying to do both, my ear pressed against my shoulder and the camera rotating in my hands, a Thai came and shoved a piece of cotton in my hand. Ah-ha, earplugs! I ripped it in half and half again, shoving the cotton into my ears. Now, hands free, I ran to Erik as he bobbed and weaved in and out of the smoky explosions. Offering him the other half of the cotton, he took my camera to get closer shots.

I stood back, coughing through the smoke with watering and stinging eyes. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. Hundreds of fireworks were being draped upon this figure and, in turn, on these men. People in the crowd were throwing their own fireworks at the image; the explosions creating tiny sparks of light in the greyish blue cloud. You could barely make out the throne and its carriers. Only their yellow or white covered heads would poke from the smoke now and again. The noise pierced my ears. The explosions burnt my shirt and onlookers dove into corners. I was transfixed to another place: I was in Cairo, I was in the New York subway, I was on a London bus, I was in Iraq. I was panicked and brave all at the same time. I wanted to run and to watch, to hide and to participate.

The explosions and bamboo poles continued through nine other gods and a procession of incantated beings, musical accompaniment, and marchers. My lungs and throat ached with the grey smoke that swirled in my respiratory system. We walked away, ducking through explosions back around the corner until we found shelter away from the storm that was the Vegetarian Festival.