Playing the game

'The farang has a limit,' Mum told two customers who have taken to asking me to pay for their beers. 'He can spend only B500 a day,' she said.

'Actually, nowhere near that much,' I replied.

Mum was talking to Top, the cook from the shop next to hers, and his young nephew Pao, who had asked me to buy them beer.

For the last two nights, I had avoided buying him and his uncle drinks. The other night I softened, because it's easier to be pleasant and just play the game, as far as the wallet allows. They work hard, and deserve a break.

Sometimes Mum will tease, and ask me if I want to buy drinks for the cute ones who drop in to the shop. However, she also knows that I have a limit - otherwise known as the boyfriend, the one who I help support at home.

Some boys accept free drinks, others do not.

When young Tock drops in to the shop, Mum asks him if he would like the farang to shout him cigarettes or a drink. He smiles, looking embarrassed - but says no every time.

Cheeky Pao, however is a different story.

Earlier, I was talking to Toon, my performing arts friend, while Mum was sitting at another table, chatting to police and army types, regulars at her shop.

While Mum is away, Toon and I take turns to serve customers.

Young Pao came over to order, and gestured to me that he would like me to serve, not Toon.

That's clever, I thought: make the farang think he's wanted. No point in asking a Thai boy to serve you, as you cannot work your charm on him.

He asked for three cigarettes. In a moment of weakness, I asked him if he wanted a drink.

'Can you buy me a beer?' he asked.

I agreed. Later the same night I bought them another couple of bottles, before Mum reminded them that I have a limit.

Mum has stepped in to help me protect my wallet before. Young Thais who do not know me, see me sitting at her shop night after night and assume I am either married to Mum, or am wealthy.

I am neither, but it is difficult telling people sometimes that No, they cannot have another drink, because I have a life at home which they do not see, but which also costs money to maintain.

Pao and his uncle were sitting outside their shop, waiting for the last table to leave so they could pack up.

When I walked past, I saw Top with his shirt up. Pao was giving his uncle's shoulders a massage.

Pao called me over. 'I don't have any money,' he complained.

'How long have you worked here?' I asked him.

'Forty days, with one day off, and they have yet to pay me a single baht,' he said.

I knew the reason he was not getting money. The shop was paying him, but the money was going straight to his mother, who works nearby. She was taking the money to pay off a debt incurred after Pao fell foul of the law.

Pao and his friends fell into a fight with some other teenage boys in his home province. After the parents of one boy complained, a court issued a warrant for him, but Pao took flight to Bangkok.

When police eventually caught up with him, they fined him B10,000. Pao's mother borrowed the money to pay the fine, and has now put him to work with his uncle to make the money back.

Pao's uncle told me this story a few weeks ago, as Pao sat next to him. Last night I asked Top to remind me of the details. I didn't feel so keen on helping, after hearing the story again.

I do not know what members of Pao's family think about his scrapes with the law. Possibly they have accepted it, as he is family after all.

Sometimes, with friends, it is the same. We forgive their flaws and faults and just rub along.

'So, can you give me money?' Pao asked.

'No.'

This time, I didn't need Mum.

'Can you pay for his education, if he returns to the provinces?' asked Top.

'No.'

'When you return to your home country next, would you like to take Pao along as a helper?'

'No.'

Oh, well. Tomorrow is another night. Try again then.