Rainy Smiles From Thailand

12:27 on a November afternoon in Bangkok is when the rainy season starts to stop. But not before one more downpour.

Bullets of water hammer corrugated aluminum roofs. Rain cascades off the rooftops into a river that courses down the side of the street. The sewer drains gurgle, regurgitating water back onto the road as it floods. A man lifts his legs onto the seat of his motorbike and cranks the throttle. The engine whizzes and the bike parts the waters, confirming that there is, indeed, a street still somewhere beneath.

As a gust of wind blows away the smoke from his exhaust, a lady, shoes in hand, wades barefoot through the murky shallows. Another woman gallops from a taxi to a doorway using a tablet to protect her hair from the rain.

I wonder why no one carries umbrellas during the rainy season. Then I realize: it’s pointless. Here you get wet from the ground up.

I exit 7-ELEVEN with a pack of garbage bags. I slide each of my feet into bags, roll them to my shins, then tie the open ends around my calves. I take another, rip a hole in it, and wear it like a poncho. I begin to walk home – a seasoned professional, veteran of eleven rainy seasons.

But I had to earn my stripes the hard way.

Many years ago I used to teach English to adults at an international food distribution company in Bangkok. One morning after a heavy rainstorm I exited the Skytrain near the intersection of Sukhumvit and Phra Khanong.

It was one of those miserably hot moments after the rain stops and sun begins to bake Bangkok dry. But the road leading to the company was still flooded. A line of people waited for motorbike taxis to ferry them through the floodwaters. Some of those people were my adult students.

That week was my first at the company, and I didn’t want to be late. But if I had waited for a motorbike, I’d never make it on time. I looked down the road and the water was ankle high, at most. I could tell because the street curbs still protruded from the water line. I started along Sukhumvit, passing one of my students, Ploy.

“John,” she said. “Where are you going?”

I pointed down the road. She smiled. Thing is, I didn’t have enough time in Thailand to interpret what her smile actually meant. To the amateur, a Thai smile is just that – a smile. But to the expert, the meaning of the Thai smile morphs depending on context. It can express joy, satisfaction, delight, pride, gratification. It can also express pain, sadness, deception, worry, desperation. I only learned later that Ploy’s smile meant: don’t be so foolish.

The first fifty meters weren’t bad, even if my leather shoes were now soaked. I rolled up my dress pants and kept walking. Eventually, gradually, the curbs began to disappear. Then the sidewalks. Then some of the retainer walls in front of the houses. Before I knew it, I went from sloshing through ankle-deep water to trudging through rain that climbed to my knees.

But I had already passed the point of no return. Retreating would’ve meant waiting for a motorbike and being late. It also would’ve meant conceding defeat in front of my students. I had been living in Thailand for six months. SIX WHOLE MONTHS. I wanted to show them how experienced and capable I was. So I trudged some more.

Halfway down the road, the sound of a motorbike came from behind and then around me. “Joooooohn,” a voice called out as the bike passed, sending a wave of water rolling toward my legs. I looked to my left and Ploy was propped on the seat, smiling as she covered her mouth with one hand.

I still had a few hundred meters to go. In due time, the road swung upward just enough for the waters to recede. Then a coffee shop appeared.

After shaking myself off like a wet street dog, I went inside to order a hot chocolate and wring myself dry in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and realized that even the street dogs, with their matted hair and sad crusty eyes and sagging scabby testicles, were more presentable. Yet there I stood, shirt and pants soaked through, all but ready to teach English to a room full of human resource officers, public relations representatives, engineers, IT professionals, sales executives, managers, assistant managers, and assistants to assistant managers.

I took one last sip of my hot chocolate and continued walking toward the company, imagining what it was going to be like standing face-to-face with corporate Thailand in my condition. I was sure they wouldn’t let me into the office. There was no way they would let me into the office. I feared the company would call the language center that employed me and make a complaint, and that I’d have to walk home not just wet, but jobless.

Arriving at the office, I made a beeline for the conference room where I’d be teaching. Before going into the room, Pop and Fai walked by first. “Good morning,” they said without so much as a glance. Then Koh followed. “Hey,” he said as he threw up his hand. One by one, the students began to pass me and enter the room.

I looked down where the floor met the wall. For as far as I could see, sneakers and shoes and high heels lined the floor. I peeled my shoes off and set them down with the others. I entered the room to find nearly everyone in a similar condition. One lady wrung her hair in a towel. A man hung his suit jacket near the window. One woman was reapplying her makeup. I took a closer look at Koh and he too had his soaking wet pants rolled up to his knees.

Then Ploy walked in, looked me up and down, and smiled. I still couldn’t read what her smile meant. But honestly, I didn’t need to.