Today is Tart day. I pull the sheet over my head in my pathetic attempt to ward off the hot Bangkok morning streaming through the window and the reality of this day banging into my brain. I don’t want to teach the Tarts. I curl in tighter, the fetal position is helping me gird myself for the experience of being in the same room with the Tarts for fifty-five minutes, assuming they show. Cruel and unusual punishment comes in many forms and this is an excruciating torturous piece of suffering I can not avoid. The Tarts are a group of female senior students who have somehow managed to stay in school, haven’t maimed anyone to my knowledge but that could change because each class they are getting more aggressive with each other and their classmates.
Last lesson I had with them, they all sat with their backs to me, flipping through magazines and text messaging each other while I tried to get the simple present tense out of the rest of the class. That was after the Queen of Tarts jumped to her feet and screamed she had to piss as she ground her hands into her groin. Her hench ladies followed suit. I ground my teeth while they ground their, well, you know.
Knowing that I shouldn't expect the Queen's crew back anytime soon, I turn my attention to the rest of my class, the Tarts in Waiting. I don't much want to teach them either, I swallow a couple of pills I got from yesterday's Druggies class. They taste not unlike the chalk I hold in my other hand.
With a shrug, I turn to the board. "Okay, who can tell me what is wrong with this sentence," I say as I scribble, Only ten dollar, me love you long time, sailor.
Opening: Bibi.....Continuation: Anon.