Turning down the workers

A drunken takraw Ball picked me up from the office on his motorbike.

He had called me a couple of hours before to say he was knocking back beers with friends, and would I like to join them.

Ball had joined his gay takraw friend Sorn, and two men in their 50s at a seedy karaoke shop nearby.

Ball arrived on his motorbike to take me to the shop. I had just left work and was waiting for him 50m down the road.

Though I knew the way there, it was good of him to pick me up. I did not fancy walking through that industrial part of town – past shipping containers, trucks, and dusty roads with no sidewalks – at that grim hour of the night.

When he greeted me, he was wearing a cheeky smile which said: 'I know you fancy me. Why else would you want to drink with us?'

I ignored it, and climbed on the back of his bike.

No sooner had I parked my bottom than Ball lost his balance. The bike tipped to one side, and I fell off the back.

I scraped my bottom and my hands. If I had hit my head on the road, I may not be here to tell you this story.

This is my first time in Thailand that I have fallen off a bloody motorbike. What was he thinking?

Ball was apologetic and embarrassed. The bike had just run through a puddle on the road, so he was able to save face.  ‘The road was slippery,’ he said repeatedly, as if trying to convince himself.

'Are you hurt?’

‘Not hurt,’ I said, gathering my composure.

Half a dozen Thais were standing nearby. They watched me fall off the bike, which must have been amusing. But no one laughed, which made my discomfort easier to bear.

Ball asked if I was working tomorrow.

'I am rostered on as usual,' I replied.

'They shouldn't do that to you...it's Labour Day weekend,' he said, changing the subject.

We arrived at the karaoke shop, an airless box of a place with darkened windows.

A dozen men were sitting inside. Why do these places so seldom have any women?

Ball’s friend Sorn was dancing for the crowd. ‘You...sing song?’ he asked in English.

‘No,’ I said.

The boys were sitting with two middle-aged men. Ball introduced them as his 'uncles'.

'Hello,' I said, shaking their hands briskly.

I didn't get a chance to ask, but I suspect they were actually his bosses at work.

The pair looked embarrassed, as if they had never met a foreigner before, which might be true.

I took a quick look about, and decided it was not for me.

The tables have space for four. As those seats were occupied, the boys put me at the end of the table next to the drinks trolley, jutting into the shop like an unwanted wisdom tooth.

No, thanks.

The music was so loud that I couldn’t make myself heard, or understand what anyone else was saying either.

Thais are nothing if not good hosts. One of the older men poured me a drink, and asked me if I wanted to sing.

I emptied my glass quickly, and told the lads I was going. 'It too noisy, and it's late,' I said. They did not seem to mind.

I said a quick goodbye, and left on foot.

The humid night air hung over me like a thick blanket. I worked up a good sweat as I walked past the shipping containers and trucks which I had earlier hoped to avoid.  But at least I made a clean escape.

When I arrived home half an hour later, I told Maiyuu the motorbike and karaoke shop saga.

He was waiting in front of the condo with Jao Khao, our adopted dog, whom he had just fed for the second time that day.

‘You are lucky you did not knock your head...I would be left in difficulty,’ Maiyuu said.

'I decided not to stay. It looked horrible.'

'You escaped lightly,' the boyfriend pronounced. ‘On May Day weekend, working Thais get so drunk they don’t know what they are doing.’