What does a teacher do after an awkward and authority-draining experience like Buon Ma Thout? How can you stand before a room of investment bankers with confidence after they have seen you groaning into a karaoke-club microphone? Do you remind them that your inebriated mumblings somehow earned you a perfect singing score? Well, no, that would probably be the wrong route to take. But I have a secret weapon in the war on humiliation.

Before I tell you what it is, a little disclosure: I did not have to bear half the shame that Matt did. First, there were only three of my students on this trip– the rest coming from Matt’s less advanced cohort– so I was already at an advantage. Second, the two biggest instigators were Ms. 100%, and the groups patriarch-of-a-supervisor, were both a part of Matt’s class. So stepping into my classroom on Monday was already easier.

I waited for the class to arrive that day with absolute stoicism. The surest way, I thought, to precipitate embarrassment would be to look embarrassed. I had nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe that wasn’t true, but I had to believe anyway or I would lose before the fighting began. So as I waited, I heard amidst the Vietnamese chatter the words “100%” and heard riotous laughter. This was it for me, I was done. But no, I can’t show fear. Students can sense it.

Throughout the class things got gradually worse. Isolated murmuring and giggles turned into Vietnamese chatter. Vietnamese chatter became Vietnamese conversation. Laughter spread indefatigably around the room until it was finally break time– my last refuge. Taking a long drink of water the answer finally dawned on me. I might know how to get out of this one.

Holding back my shame, I restarted class ten minutes later and began the conversation simply: “You all speak English so well, why are you speaking in Vietnamese?” That was it, a nugget of flattery so perfectly aimed at their hearts it distracted them from their mockery. They denied it, dutifully. “No, I’m serious. My job here is to allow you to speak, not so much for you to improve your English, but become more confident about the fact that you speak it so well.”

And that’s the secret. From then on, the room lightened up, and English replaced Vietnamese. Concentrated stares replaced laughter. And for me, smugness replaced self pity. So here’s the moral: never underestimate flattery, a secret weapon against subversion.