Finding work for Thais: Instant rewards

What do we do with these Thais who won’t help themselves?

I have found work at my company for Mr Ball, but he is reluctant to pursue it.

Ball’s mother, friends, even Ball himself, asked if I could contact someone at my office on his behalf. Was there any work going?

Ball has been out of work for weeks, and his family could do with the money.

I knew where I should look, but didn’t know the name of the section head.

I asked a staff member in the trade field who I found hanging around the motorcycle taxi queue near work.

‘Call Mr A,’ he said.

I asked a Thai colleague in the administration section if he knew this man A.

No, but he gave me the number of someone who might.

Next, I asked a senior Thai colleague on my floor, with whom I work every night, if he had heard of A.

No, but he knew a woman working five metres away, who had many friends in that section.

She gave me the name and number of the section head. Actually, she did much more.

She called the man himself, and asked him if there were any work opportunities going.

‘Yes...we need casual, part-time workers. But if he does well, we could take him on as a permanent, full-time member of staff,’ he said.

‘Bring him in tomorrow, and he can take a look around,’ he said.

The next day, I took Ball in for a job interview. The section head showed us around the workroom floor, and explained what was involved.

‘Come back tomorrow at 8.30am,’ he told Ball.

Half an hour later, we were back at Ball’s place. I was lamenting the fact that the work was actually piecemeal...judging by what I was told at the interview, on some days, he may get none at all.

I shouldn’t have worried. Twenty minutes later, the section head called me. ‘If he wants to full-time work, there’s enough work for him here every day,’ he said.

The interview was stressful, even for me. Little surprise if, after the interview was over, Ball should repair to carer R’s ya dong stand. He spent the next five hours drinking there.

I worried he would not be able to make his first day at work, so after I finished my own work duties that evening, ventured into the slum area to visit him.

‘Go home,’ I said.

Even at that hour, four or five customers were still drinking.

A man in his early 30s, Na, who lives nearby and delivers fish to markets for a living, said he would take Ball along to my workplace on his first day, so he wouldn't have to go alone.

He and Ball had been chatting all night, discussing one cunning plan or another.

‘Can you recommend me for work, too?’ he asked.

Ball’s friends, including A, had heard that he was on the cusp of getting a good job, and wanted a slice of the action.

If the farang could find a job for Ball, he might be able to find work for them as well.

‘I’m not recommending you for anything if Ball himself fails to show up. I will suffer loss of face,’ I said.

I went home promptly, and spent a restless night worrying about whether he would rise in time.

Early next morning, I called Ball's mother and asked for permission to visit. Ball was still sleeping. No surprise that Na had failed to show: his promise to pick up Ball at home was just drinking talk.

We had 90 minutes to get him ready for work.

I called to him from outside his room. ‘Get up...you have a job to go to!’ I said.

His elder sister Kae, who was in the next room, was more assertive.

‘Your farang friend is standing here, waiting. Have some respect! If you don’t want to go, say so. But stop all this messing around!’ she said.

Ball emerged, looking sheepish. He took a shower, dressed himself in a pair of black slacks and a ragged white collared shirt.

I took him outside to find a motorcycle taxi who would take him to work.

‘I feel sick,’ said Ball.

‘You drank too much,’ I said.

I gave him B100 for the day, and a bag of fruit, and saw him off on his motorbike.

At 2pm, I called his mother. I could not stop worrying. Had he met any friends? How was the work going?

‘Oh, Ball didn’t stay. They told him to come back tomorrow, as the boss wasn’t there,’ she said.

Ball had been home for hours, but no one had bothered to call me.

I went to see him.

‘I have thought of you all day,’ I said. ‘I’m stressed.’

‘In a way, it’s a good thing that there was no work for me today, as I felt ill,’ said Ball, who repaired to the toilets soon after getting to his destination. He was so sick, he vomited.

‘I won’t drink today, and will get an early night to be ready for work tomorrow,’ he promised.

Ball would need more clothes, I thought, if he was about to re-enter the full-time workforce.

Late yesterday, I bought him some underwear, and asked a woman in the market close to my office where I could find work trousers and shirts.

She told me where to walk, but I put off the purchase until later, as I didn’t have time.

I called Ball’s Mum late in the evening. ‘We’re having something to eat. He didn’t go drinking,’ she said.

Relief! He might just get there after all.

I dropped his underwear and another bag of fruit into his place about 12.30am. His brother, Beer, answered the door. He was up, watching football alone.

‘Ball is asleep,’ he said.

More good news.

Today, I called about 7.30am, to make sure Ball was up.

‘Ball says your company can’t offer full-time work. He’s decided to look elsewhere. His friend, Na, says he’ll take him to apply somewhere else,’ she said, admitting that Ball's job search drama was giving her a headache.

Na must have contacted Ball last night while I was at work.

'What?' I said, shocked. 'He's due at the office in an hour!'

Mum asked if she could call me back. Five minutes later, she had succeeded in raising her son. We spoke by phone.

‘I want to go with Na instead,’ he said firmly.

‘We will talk about this later,’ I said curtly, hanging up the phone.

I sent a stiffly-worded text message to his mother, and followed it up with another phone call.

‘You asked me to find work for Ball, but today, the first day he is supposed to report to the office, he tells me he is not interested.

'My colleagues have gone to some effort; at least two senior staff say have volunteered to look after your son on my behalf.

‘I never asked them for such generosity; all I wanted was a contact name and number. But my colleagues have gone out of their way to help.

'Your son, however, now tells me he would rather look somewhere else,’ I said.

Mum sounded weak and resigned. I felt sorry for her.

‘I would like your permission to visit Ball this afternoon, so we can talk,’ I said.

Mum has agreed.