Pardon my ignorance (1)

'That movie is no good. The ending makes no sense,' said Mum.

Three customers including me were watching television at her shop in Thon Buri. We were the only ones there.

The American thriller, Inside Man  was airing on satellite TV.

I knew what that meant, as I have heard it before. Mum wanted to change the channel, and was canvassing for support. She wanted someone to agree with her.

No one did. We were enjoying the show. Thais can get involved in western movies, even when they don't understand what is going on. This one had Thai subtitles, but that is beside the point.

Thais are usually taken by movies which have visual impact. The sight of two farang screaming at each other in a slapstick comedy which bombed at the box office might turn off the average western viewer, but it can hold the attention of Thais, because so many Thai films are made in the same vein. They also wonder if farang carry on that way in real life.

Inside Man is a star-studded thriller about a bank heist, by director Spike Lee. It combines suspense, drama and quirky New York-style humour. I am not surprised if much of it was lost on Mum, who prefers to watch action movies, such as Godzilla, showing on the next channel, about a giant lizard tramping through the streets of New York.

I was sitting at the table with graphic designer Chin, who had turned up with a handful of comic books, and a new kathoey friend, called Best.

Chin devours Japanese comics avidly, and had just been to a bookstore to buy the latest releases. However, he put them down to watch Inside Man.

Ladyboy Best, who comes from a high-class family in the North, but is out of work at present, busied himself filling my whisky glass. Thais are famed for their hospitality, but this is one courtesy I can do without, as I prefer to pace myself when drinking.

I do not want people filling my glass while I am not watching, but it would be impolite to decline, so I say nothing.

Mum repeated her comment about the meaningless ending, then took herself behind her shop to cook a meal for anyone who was interested. Good, I thought - maybe we can get some peace.

However, half an hour later, she was back.

'The ending is no good. I will look for something else,' she announced, while taking the remote, and blithely changing the channel.

The three of us who were watching Inside Man were left, as the Thai saying goes, with mouths agape. We are regular customers, but our needs come second to those of the shop's owner.

now, see part 2

Back from travels

My partner is back, which is good news. He returned bearing food, which is also a welcome sight, and clever of him, as it salved my irritable mood.

Maiyuu and his friends, who went to the provinces to make merit at a temple, but were away longer than expected, stopped by the roadside on the way back to buy desserts which are hard to find in Bangkok.

They include those roasted sticky-rice desserts made in bamboo tubes (khao lam), and softer desserts, like a custard pudding, which are sold in silver metal trays (mor gaeng).

He bought them in Chon Buri and Petchaburi, which are well-known for them. Now I am busy putting back on the weight I lost during my three days of flu.

Time-wasters

Day two without the boyfriend. In years gone past, day two, three, or four in a row would be nothing out of the ordinary. But these days I am used to him being home.

Last night Maiyuu sent a text message to say that the car had broken down. The travellers were waiting for a mechanic to arrive, but if the repairs finished too late, he would have to spend a second night away from home.

Maiyuu left for Singha Buri to make merit with kathoey friends on Friday morning, just as the flu decided to pay me a visit. I was too ill to go in to work, and have called in sick for the last two nights.

Unfortunately, I have had to spend all that time alone, as there is no one else here. Most of the cooking which Maiyuu did before he left - pizza, a spicy sausage salad, and pastry puffs - has gone to waste, as I couldn't eat it.

They went away at short notice. To expect otherwise would be to involve Thais in 'planning', which is almost a foreign concept. Similarly, I am sure no one bothered to check the roadworthiness of the car before embarking on the journey.

When I called him yesterday at 11am, his group still had not risen for the day. This morning, I called at 8am, as I am tired of him wasting time in the company of veteran time-wasters such as his kathoey friends - one of whom even makes merit for pet animals.

Maybe that requires a separate trip to the provinces. Hey, why not make that one day for dogs, and another for cats? Who cares?

They have achieved little with their lives, but I don't see why they should have to act as a drag on mine as well.

I would like some human company around this place, as I am getting sick of being alone. Having Maiyuu around makes my own company much more bearable.

'The car is now fixed,' he told me sleepily on the phone.

Hopefully, they might get home at a reasonable hour, preferably before I return to work this evening. If his job is to make merit at temples, mine is to go out to work, to keep him in the style to which he has become accustomed.

Sick leave

I have a nasty dose of the flu, which I picked up 24 hours ago. I called in sick to work.

I woke feeling wretched. The boyfriend chose this moment to tell me that he was going away overnight to Singha Buri. He wanted to make merit with friends at a temple.

'Please give me B200, so I can make merit for you,' he said.

I handed over the money.

Maiyuu is going with a ladyboy friend called Bic. When I first met her years ago, she was a university student. She lived in the same condo as us, with a young guy who likes ladyboys.

The relationship ticked along steadily for years, until the boyfriend met an ageing ladyboy who claims to have spiritual powers.

He left Bic for her. You can read about the spiritual medium here

After the relationship ended, Bic moved out of the condo and went back home to her family's home in Chon Buri. However, now she is back at our consdo, and renting a room on the floor above.

In Bangkok, she has found work as an 'organise [er]', as the Thai has it, finding models for functions such as product launches. These include the famous 'pretties'- girls who cavort on cars at motorshows.

Maiyuu claimed he had to rush, as Bic was waiting. He did not even stop for a shower, but packed a bag and raced out the door.

As he was packing, I set about doing jobs around the home: taking out the rubbish, wiping down a table, sweeping.

Maiyuu could see this activity was going on, and that I was sick, but it did not worry him. He could have helped me do a few basic chores before he left, but said he could not leave Bic to wait.

When Maiyuu falls ill, he doesn't like to bother me. He cares for himself, until he is better.

That same independent streak showed through again yesterday, when he assumed I would be fine on my own, nursing my flu overnight, without anyone present for company.

At 8pm, he sent me a text message.

'How are you?'

'Terrible,' I said.

I hope he returns speedily today.

Just sign here

'We get extra money whenever we respond to a call-out,' said Tor, leaning on his motorcycle, one of the tools of his trade.

Another is a wind jacket he wears, emblazoned with the word ‘Lawyer’.

In fact, he is not a lawyer, but the company he works for is known by that name.

A man in his 30s, Tor works for an insurance company contractor.

He and his colleagues whizz out to the scene of motor vehicle accidents to take down claim details from motorists.

'The call-out centres are staffed 24/7. If we are not responding to call-outs, we can sleep.

‘That's the good part about the job. The bad thing is the weather. It is hard to make a sketch of the scene and take pictures of an accident scene in the dark, or when it is wet,' he said.

In Thailand, motorists involved in an accident start the claims process at the scene.

In the West, at least where I come from, motorists do not need to dally. We swap vehicle registration numbers and contact details at the scene; otherwise, we submit our claims when we get home, and the insurance company does the rest.

No so here. Insurers send agents as soon as they are informed of an accident. Often they turn up on motorcycles within moments of an accident happening.

Traffic which has built up behind an accident may clear only after they have finished collecting details. Tor and the other staff make sketches of the accident scene, inspect vehicles for damage, take photographs, fill out claims forms, and ask motorists who caused it.

If motorists cannot agree on who was at fault, they call police. While police can point out who did wrong, motorists are not obliged to agree. If the two parties still fail to agree, they can take the matter to court.

But whether or not it gets to that stage, Tor and his colleagues still have plenty of forms to fill out.

They work for a man called Boss, who runs seven call-out centres in Bangkok.

I teach English to his two children at their home, a three-storey shophouse which also serves as his place of work, in Pin Khlao on the Thon Buri side of town. I meet Boss, Tor and his pals every week on my way to teach the kids.

I teach on the second storey of the shophouse, but I pass Tor and the other insurance workers in the carpark, or in the office on the first level, on my way up.

The spare room where I teach also serves as a meeting room, where Boss can discipline errant staff when he wants privacy, he confided once. If I want to visit the toilet, I mount yet another flight of stairs to the third floor, where the children and Mum and Dad share a bedroom.

Often I arrive at the shop to find Tor and his pals shirtless. If they get a call-out, they don their shirts and smart wind-jackets with the company's name on the back. At least half a dozen motorcycles are parked out front, ready for the agents to use.

Last week, Tor, and Nat, another employee in his late teens, were having a smoke when I walked in.

A bunk next to them was occupied. Two agents, wearing workclothes, were sleeping next to each other on the same mattress.

Tor is in his late 30s or early 40s, married, and bored. Nat looks barely out of his teens, but has a girlfriend. He wears cute fuzz on his upper lip, and hair falls into his eyes.

We chatted briefly as I took off my shoes ready for my ascent to the second storey.

‘What are your plans?’ I asked Nat.

'I want to save for a car or motorbike, and then a house, just like anyone else,' he replied.

As rain fell softly outside, I looked at his soft fuzzy-chin features.

'Have you known your girlfriend long?' I asked.

'We met when I was 16. But she had already lost her virginity,' Nat said, sadly.

'Times have changed since we were young,' Tor told me philosophically. He was referring to the time that he and I grew up. 

'Lust came along, and she gave in to it,' said Nat.

Accidents in bed can happen just as fast as those on the road, it seems, with consequences which are just as permanent.

Still, at least they have each other. For a lad of his tender age, I thought, it would not be much fun leaving work on a rain-swept night for an empty home.