I live on the sixth floor, you see, and on the first floor beneath me there is a row of various work establishments--a few laundromats, convenience stores, even what appears to be a Networking Solutions company.
I got to know the owners of one of these establishments in my Crazy-Farang-Sitcom way tonight, after drying my Khaki shorts went horribly, sit-comically wrong. I laid my Khakis out carefully on the air conditioning unit, and the slickness of the fabric meant that it almost immediately went tumbling over my balcony as soon as I had put them down. I watched helpless as my Khakis fell six floors to the ground and hit the concrete.
No one was looking, I guess, because I watched the shorts for about 30 seconds before it became apparent that no one was going to come out and check what the eff had just flying from the floors above.
And so after a very confusing "conversation" with a laundromat owner, who was happily watching her Thai soap opera before I interrupted her, it was understood that I had "forgotten" my "pants" from "that place [wild gestures pointing up]"
Still don't know how to say "sixth floor" or "dropped" or "fell"...but I'm getting by.