Friday marks the halfway point in the training, so a bunch of us head one block over to O'Reilly's Pub for a celebratory pint or three. Fries and Heinz catsup washed down with Tiger beer is a blessed respite from Asian culture, and now I appreciate why expats need their small piece of home to retreat into. After a few rounds Anton, a nice young American fellow who teaches up north and speaks fluent Thai, leads us off to a terrific supper at a Middle Eastern restaurant just a few Sky Train stops up the line. We are long gone from Silom Road when a drive-by shooter on a motorcycle kills a policeman and wounds two bystanders later that night in front of Bangkok Bank, two blocks down from the school. I read about it the next morning online at www.bangkokpost.com.
Anton's restaurant is down a side street in the Sukhumvit area, a spectacle that makes Sodom and Gomorrah look like Mayberry. The seven us file past a gauntlet of massage parlors, girlie bars and other delights -- a colorful walk, and worth it for the massive Middle Eastern feast we are served. But at the end I am just about comatose ... possibly something to do with a week of minimal sleep, marathon study sessions and, oh yeah, those beers. As the die-hard partyers push on to the next venue, Erwin from Belgium and I drag ourselves up to the Sky Train platform and head home.
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The pressure is building and a few trainees are starting to crack. One poor fellow, a Mr. Bean-like Brit, stumbles and stammers through his final 40-minute teaching practice of Week 2. At the end he announces to his stunned class of young adult learners: "Thank you. Now I am going to go have a drink and hang myself in the toilet."
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