Cast a memory into the third person. Don't aim to write it as a strictly 'truthful' account

When the plane landed and they all passed out through the gangway, there was relatively little fuss. It was a small airport after all, and seemed only to have a few gates and one main building. As Tim walked with the rest of the group through the upper level, he was vaguely aware of his nerves of meeting the people he would be working with for the next year. By that point his senses had been assaulted by so much that was new that his feelings seemed distant, as though stretched to their limits. As they descended the stairs they could see the various welcome parties, some with banners, gathered by the entrance. When they got downstairs, the lady from the board of education who had flown back with them immediately brought a man over to speak with him. This was Mr Onishi, his new supervisor. He was alone and didn't have a welcome banner.He seemed to be in a hurry to depart, so Tim was dragged outside into the oppressive heat without the chance to say goodbye to the others. He didn't know them well, but there had been a kind of safety in numbers up to that point; they were all going through the same thing.

Tim followed Mr Onishi to his car - box-shaped, like many of the vehicles in the area. The interior was like an oven, and Tim wondered how long it had been baking in the heat. Perhaps Mr Onishi was so eager to leave because he'd been waiting a while. His haste made him seem unfriendly, which did nothing for Tim's unease. He needn't have worried, however, because as soon as they got in the car, Mr Onishi became very talkative. He asked about Tim's country, its culture, its film stars. It was all very friendly, but Tim got the impression Mr Onishi talked mostly about what he knew, and to let people know what he knew. Still, it put Tim at ease, as far as that was possible.