New watering hole

I have found a new place to drink. It is close to Mum's shop, but better. Unfortunately, it also lies along the route between Mum's shop and her apartment.

She visits her apartment regularly when she is on duty at the shop. Luckily, last night I did not see her.

I am sure she would not appreciate seeing me at a rival shop. Times are tough, and I should know where my loyalties lie.

The new place, not 50m from Mum's own, has air conditioning, a counter out front, soft music, a small garden and waterfall, toilet, cheap menu...

It looks as smart as any Thai-owned eatery you would find in town, and looks sadly out of place in an area as rundown as Pin Khlao.

The eatery is owned by Wut, an enterprising businessman in his 30s whose girlfriend works nearby.

I took a seat. Within five minutes, he had introduced himself. We chatted for the next half an hour.

His place has seating inside, and a benchtop bar out the front overlooking a small rock garden and waterfall. As I sat outside admiring his handiwork, a friend from the past called out my name.

'Hello, Mali!' he said.

Kor is a young landowner in the area. We know each other from months ago when we used to drink at Mum's shop.

Back then, Kor was a regular. These days, he appears to have deserted the place, along with almost everyone else in the neighbourhood.

Kor joined me at my benchtop table, and ordered a whisky.

'You know, I own this place. Wut rents it from me,' said Kor. 'He's doing well.'

Occasionally, Wut would join us when he was not busy serving customers inside.

At least a dozen young people, mainly students, came for a meal in the two hours I was sitting there.

'Why is Mum's place so dead?' I asked Kor.

Wut, a newcomer to the area, listened in to Kor's tale.

'It's in a prime spot - right at the head of this street,' said Kor.

'The street is deep...there are condos down here, the local police station, even a naval property.

'Most people who enter this street have to pass Mum's shop first.

'As recently as 18 months ago, it was still a popular meeting place for locals...some nights the place was just packed.

'Police from the local station came, local shopkeepers, tenants from the condos, students...but these days they have all found new places to drink.

'Why did they lose their customers? Mum and her husband became complacent,' said Kor.

'If you turn up, you serve yourself. Often, the counter is cluttered with dirty plates, empty bottles and glasses, so you have to make a space for yourself.

'It is also overrun by dogs.'

Mum's shop now caters to casual foot traffic - people walking past the shop on their way home, who realise they have run out of cigarettes or water. She rarely sells much else.

As a place to meet local people and drink, Mum's shop has had its day, and everyone knows it. I don't know why she and her husband bother to stay.

'It is good for the memories,' I told Kor.

'There's not much else left,' he said, laughing.

Wut listened diligently, but had business problems of his own which he wanted to discuss.

'My two cooks make the same dishes on the menu every night, but they rarely taste the same. Yet for the sake of my customers, I want them to taste the same no matter who makes them.'

Does he sound the complacent type? No fear. I hope his business thrives and prospers, as a reward for his worrying, and hard work.

I welcome the arrival of Wut's eatery. It's a civilised way to drink and dine, and is well overdue on the Thon Buri side of the river, where tourists seldom venture.

Now, how to square it with Mum?

-
'Oh, here we go - I thought the money issue was decided,' said Maiyuu.

I had just told him of my latest proposal - that he give me an extra B2,000 a month, down from my initial demand of B3,000, and just a small share of the B12,000 in new earnings which I am making at work every month.

'I can still help with household expenses if we end up short,' I said.

Maiyu grumbled that, given my indecisiveness, I might go back to asking for the full B3000 before long.

This morning, before I woke, Maiyuu had visited the local supermarket to buy supplies. He returned with two bags full of vegetables, including mushrooms, corn, and asparagus, which he is now turning into a meal.

Readers chastise me for giving Maiyuu control over my ATM card.

Ideally, I would like Maiyuu to go back to work, and might suggest he looks for a casual job as a salad hand or pastry chef in a small eatery such as the one I found last night.

But for as long as looks after the household well, he can keep the card. I could assert myself and demand the right to do this and that, but where does that leave him - or us?