Communications between the two factions are increasingly tense -- one side is perceived as imperious and unresponsive while the other is letting its frustrations give way to irrational behavior -- and I am worried that this standoff might devolve into chaos by the end of the day.
I am referring of course to relations between IH Bangkok and my fellow students.
As the red shirt occupation forces yet another day's shutdown of the school, my classmates are beyond restless -- especially those who must leave the country this weekend, with or without their CELTA. But Cambridge cannot certify them until they've logged enough hours of observed teaching time in front of actual students.
The inactivity is wearing, even on those of us who aren't time-constrained: instead of using these free days to tighten up lesson plans and finish assignments, students are sleeping in, watching movies, drinking beer and playing cards until all hours. After three weeks of high-octane intensity, the class is losing its mojo in the downtime.
And so the testy emails begin bouncing back and forth between disgruntled students and the school officials who are trying like mad to find a practical solution. Finally Roslyn breaks the tension with a long note telling everyone to chill. Roz is this daft but lovable old doll from Australia whose teaching style is best described as "demented mother hen." She will be forever famous in CELTA circles for the day she drilled her young students repeatedly in the proper pronunciation of "can't" ... but her Aussie accent turned it into, um, a different C-word.
At last, IH Bangkok gets approval for a plan that lets us email our remaining assignments, receive a bit of distance learning, and generally get on with our lives, certificates in hand. The arrangement comes with some tight deadlines that instantly refocus everyone's concentration. We might just get through this thing after all!
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