Finger Brushing in a Row House

“Here we are. Just gotta walk the last thirty feet because the car cannot fit.” 

My new boss gallantly grabbed my backpack from the trunk. The backpack looked much more proportional on his six foot frame as he forged ahead down the increasingly narrow alleyway. 

We had parked just ahead of three chest high, blue trash cans that were overflowing with plastics bags. I was staring at the obvious eye sore when one crashed down and a victorious looking street dog grabbed a mouthful of plastic and scurried off into an empty lot. The sudden movement of the trash pile caused the slow yet penetrating scent of rotting fish, death and sour fruit to reach my nostrils. Mixed with the oppressive heat it smelt like someone had taken the lid off some kind of cannibalistic crockpot. My ‘illusion of normalicy’ bubble had officially burst.

Thar she blows....

                                   

My new boss stepped up onto a concrete slab and began to fiddle with the padlock on my new front door. The housing unit consisted of 5 single story row houses (with 5 more in the back). Mine was number three. I stepped through the door and was happy to see a clean, rather clinic looking room. The heat was no less oppressive than it had been outside but it was nice to put my bags down with some sense of finality. My boss gave me the grand tour, 

“This is the living room, This is the bedroom, and here is the toilet.” 

“Looks good” I replied, “It has a bed and a toilet. All you need really!” 

I was still affecting my tough girl stance on conquering developing countries standards of living.

 “I will leave you to unpack and settle in.” My new boss continued, “The head teacher, Craig, will stop by later to check on you and introduce himself. I will pick you up on the main road tomorrow morning at 8:00. We will go for a special Thai breakfast before we start your training.”

 I thanked him profusely for picking me up from the airport and handed him a bottle of Canadian wine and a Saskatoon Berry Jam gift package. 

“Thank you very much” he said as he accepted the package, “this is very thoughtful of you but, my wife and I don’t drink, so please keep this and share it with the teachers. They definitely appreciate alcohol in all its forms.”
My boss stepped off the concrete slab of a patio and headed toward his car. I watched him reverse his way out of the narrow alleyway, no small feat, then I went into my new home to unpack.

             I unpacked a few things, hanging up a few work shirts and skirts that Mum had bought me before I left, but I was still really hot. I decided to take my first shower in Thailand. Seemed like an exciting notion; my first shower in my first overseas home. I grabbed my towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner but when I reached the bathroom and tried to put my armload of stuff down I realized that something was missing.

 First, there was no shower. There was a shower head, but was it was just attached to the wall, there was no actual shower. I went to put my stuff down on the sink instead and realized with slight alarm that there was no sink as well. Determined, I lined my shower stuff up on the toilet tank, peeled off my funky clothing, and turned on the shower. 

A soft trickle of clear, scent-free water came down and flowed directly onto and into the toilet. This soft trickle was powerful enough to knock the shampoo and conditioner off the toilet tank and onto the floor, squashing my baby toe in the process. It also managed to knock my toothbrush directly into the toilet bowl. Never being much afraid of germs, I fished my toothbrush out with my bare hands and threw it in the trash can.

 I proceeded to have a decent shower, stand-straddling the toilet in a kind of ‘exotic dancer riding a porcelain horse’ stance. It was only when I was finger brushing my teeth that I remembered where my hand had just been.

I was still under the impression that I had moved into a large sauna, but I managed to make it feel a little more welcoming. The row house only had one slated window in the front wall. The glass was cloudy and I couldn’t be sure if it was by dirt or design, but it effectively obscured my view of looking out and any curious passerby’s view of looking in. This gave me the freedom to create my own little nudist sauna. I pranced around naked, hot and happy. I tacked a few pictures from home onto the wall. It was the usual photographic documentary of best friends, parents, my younger brother, and the family dog.

 Staring at the wall of ‘people of who love me’ I realized the small absurdity of moving so far away from such a wonderful support group, but I was seeking adventure and all the wonderful and fabulous things that I was sure Thailand had in store for me. 

My new exotic life in a new exotic location.

As I sat in front of the fan, set to the highest speed, it dawned on me that this shabby, sinkless row house was my new life. I decided to take a nap.

Don't worry, the ass hose saga cometh.....