Master negotiator (1)

'Get out of the way!'

That was farang C. He and bad-boy Kew, my Thai friend who is aged in his mid-20s but finds it hard to grow up, were wrestling in the back seat of a taxi.

We were kerb-crawling, as the Americans say. Farang C, who was drunk, had expressed an interest in sleeping with a girl, but did not want to spend much money.

Kew, a former bar boy in Pattaya, was keen to impress upon my friend farang C how clever he was at negotiating with girls of the night.

When he worked in Pattaya, foreign and Thai women alike had 'off-ed' him, so he knew how these things worked.

He gave the driver directions, and we headed off to Wong Wian Yai in Bangkok, where girls of the night ply their trade from the sidewalk (along with Pin Khlao bridge, outside Thammasat University, and various other spots).

The taxi knew where to go, as customers in search of female company had taken him there before.

The girls gathered in groups of four or five, spread over a 100m stretch. Each time we came upon a small group, Kew, who was on the driver's side, told the taxi to stop. Then he would lean across the back seat and call to the girls out the window.

Farang C, who was sitting closest to the girls, could not see them, because Kew's body was blocking the view. Kew had to lean across farang C to bargain with the girls from the window on his side.

'I can't see if they are pretty or not, because his body is in the way,' he complained.

Some girls came over for a better look at who was in the taxi. Others just called out from where they were sitting.

Kew negotiated over prices, and the number of girls. At each stop, he asked for two girls, and offered them B450-500, which included the tariff for a short-stay hotel.

'Some girls will only let you do it once, or you have to pay again,' said Kew.

I assume that is why he asked for two girls. Maybe he wanted to sleep with one, too. He can't possibly have thought I was interested.

In the end, he found two girls who agreed on his price. Kew took us to a short-stay hotel, which I had recalled seeing many years before, but only in passing.

The taxi took us up an off-road ramp, and into the back of the hotel. It stopped, and farang C, the girls and Kew went in to the office.

Five minutes later, they were back. 'We don't serve foreigners,' said the owner, a man in his 50s told us. He came out accompanied by the others.

We left. Traffic on the ramp is one way, so we kept going the same way we came up.

It took us past many small, squalid-looking rooms. Outside their room, customers can park their car. If they don't want their vehicle to be recognised, they can draw a large curtain across the vehicle to conceal it.

now, see part 2

Me, new phase, Thai life!

The boyfriend is back, after two days at work. His employer alters or adapts clothes, lampshades, and shoes to order.

Customers bring in clothing or furniture items, wanting braid, flowers or other decorative bits and pieces put on them. Can do!

That information is more than six months old, dating from the last time I asked the boyfriend about his work.

When he goes to work, he tends to go for at least a day and night. This time, he went for two days and two nights. He sleeps over at his boss's place.

I tried calling a few times on the phone, but he was too busy to answer. Until recently, we sent text messages to each other. I used to send one just before coming home from work, prompting him to do whatever household tasks I asked him to perform while away, such as washing the dishes.

Now, I don't bother. I know the job will get done eventually, and life is made of bigger things.

We must have reached a new level of understanding in our relationship, where we both know that those tiresome SMS messages are no longer necessary.

Apart from that, I have made a new farang friend at work, who calls regularly at night, after our shifts end and we have returned home.

We work the same shifts, on the same days. We have hit it off, even though he is irredeemably straight. We have been drinking at Mum's shop a couple of times, and talk almost every night during the working week.

He is the first foreigner I have befriended from work in years - maybe the first ever. Before, I turned up my nose at the company of foreigners. I wanted to immerse myself in Thai life, so all my friends became Thai.

Later, I realised that this was not working. Most of my Thai friends are at least 10 years younger, are still studying, or busy carving out careers.

We have nothing in common, outside Mum's shop.

When Thais see two farang, laughing and enjoying themselves, they want to join in the fun.

They come over, hold up their glass, and say 'Cheers!'

We clink glasses - then they walk back to their drinking table, to rejoin the relative safety of their Thai friends.

My Thai friends and I talk better when my farang friend has gone home, and we are alone. But I don't call my Thai friends during the week, and they rarely call me.

Before, I relied on the boyfriend for company, when not with my drinking friends at Mum's shop. Now, thank God, I have found someone else, who couldn't give a toss about my boyfriend, or life outside work.

We haven't reached that topic yet. We are still too busy talking about life in the West, good novels, work, our shared profession...

Thai halfie threat

The company where I work is taking on more Thai-Caucasians, which might be a bad thing.

Thai half-breeds - look kreung in the local vernacular - are a potential threat to foreign migrant labourers such as myself.

Thais born to foreign parents have a distinctive look. They also tend to have good English language skills.

Like most foreigners working in Thailand, I am employed for my native English skills. Some employers hire foreigners no matter what their background or experience, as long as they have English.

My company is guilty of that sin occasionally, but on the whole tries to hire people with relevant experience and qualifications, like me.

It is obliged to do so under the labour law, but that is almost beside the point. This is Thailand, after all.

Employing foreigners involves paperwork and expense. If my company could find fluent English speakers among Thais, it would not need me.

That is why I regard the presence of look kreung in the office as a potential threat. I don't want one to supplant my job one day because he happens to have been educated overseas.

I am not privy to this company's employment strategy. Beyond the small corner of the huge open-space office which I occupy, I know little of what is going on. But I have noticed more young Thai look kreung wandering into my ambit of vision.

I saw one just now, dressed in scruffy jeans and a dark patterned shirt. 'You know what's going to happen on Monday,' he said in a broad American-accented drawl.

He was talking to a Thai guy in his 20s who wears a telephone earpiece all day. At any moment, he can start talking to himself, as he sits in front of his computer. That's what it looks like, anyway. 

This young man gets many visits from look kreung staff, perhaps because they work in the same specialist area.

They do creative, design-oriented tasks. As a mere migrant labourer, I just fix people's English.

No look kreung have yet penetrated my department, perhaps because fixing English is not seen as glamorous enough.

Some look kreung have lousy Thai, maybe because they spent too long overseas, or lost interest in their language while they were there. They insert so many English words into their Thai that they may as well make the change to talking wholly in English.

Do employers consider this lack of Thai fluency a drawback among look kreung? I have no idea.

If they work together, and have limited contact with Thai-speaking staff, then possibly not.

I suspect they are paid more than ordinary Thais without their English language skills, but less than foreign workers for whom English is their native tongue.

If the company could find more of them to hire, I am sure it would. I cannot assume that my skills will be needed forever.

Thais tighten belts

I have lost two part-time teaching jobs in the past week, with rising fuel prices cited in both cases.

I teach English to the offspring of a regular customer at Mum's shop. The children go to a school in Nonthaburi, outside Bangkok, where the family has another home.

Usually, they travel from their Bangkok home to school and back every day. Their mother drives them there, and picks them up. The journey takes about 30 minutes.

Mum told me the other day that their children would start sleeping the night more often at their home in Nonthabuuri, which is five minutes from their school, to save on petrol.

On those nights when she does not bring them back to Bangkok, my teaching services would not be needed. Normally I teach them on my nights off, soon after their mother brings them home, about 6.30pm.

I also teach a group of students close to work. A few days ago, the father of one student called to say they were busy studying for exams. 'I'd like to cancel in the meantime,' he said hurriedly.

The extended family runs a restaurant close to my office, where I eat before work. Last night I asked one mother how the students were going.

'The real reason they have quit studying is that I have no money,' she said.

The father gave me the exam explanation to save face.

We were standing in front of a small grill which stands next to the restaurant, where the mother makes pork satay on a stick.

Two young women from the neighbourhood ordered half a dozen sticks of satay, which is dipped in a sweet sauce.

Thais love sweet food. As soon as those customers left, another couple of girls arrived. I stood on the mother's side of the grill, where we were enveloped by a cloud of smoke.

Every night, she takes her children home via the Pra Ram 2 motorway, a 15-minute drive. 'It is costing B80 a day just in petrol,' she said.

I offered to teach for free in the meantime, as I do not want to lose a regular source of income.

Mum, who looked embarrassed to get such an offer, said she would talk to her children again.

I do not hold out much hope of getting the students back, as the family is struggling with other financial problems - the air con in the upstairs part of the restaurant, where we meet for class, is broken.

But if I do end up teaching English for free, then I hope oil prices go down in a hurry. Then they can start paying me again.

Helping hand (2, final)

'Why are you single now?' I asked the young Vietnamese.

'I can barely earn enough to look after myself. I can't look after a woman as well. I have nothing to offer her,' said Kai.

Kai is not gay, nor looks it. But he needs money, like anyone else. That's why he was showing an interest in me.

His male Vietnamese friend, Nam Kaeng, has been here about a month, though this is his second visit. He was last here three years ago.

Nam Plao, the girl, has lived in Thailand about a year. All speak good Thai, which they say they learnt from friends.

'Why are you still here if you earn so little?' I asked Kai.

Kai says he wants to go back to Vietnam. He was trying to save the B6000 fare, but it was hard.

That's when he asked me if I would like to travel to Vietnam with him.

I did not reply. Kai turned to Pao, and mouthed the words, 'It won't work.'

Naughty Pao had probably suggested that Kai try chatting me up, to see if I would help with the return fare.

I am not made of money. I had just bought the group a bottle of whisky, and before the night ended, gave Pao B1000 to buy himself new shoes and clothes.

'I saw that...that's not a nice thing to do,' I said to Kai, crossly.

'How can you carry on like that in front of me, and think I won't understand?'

Kai looked unhappy, and apologised. He went to another part of the restaurant and sulked for 10 minutes.

When he came back we chatted some more. Then his Vietnamese friends declared it was time to go home to bed.

As they prepared to leave, Kai asked if I have a cellphone number.

'I do have a cellphone,' I said, without giving the number.

'Will you be here tomorrow?' he asked.

'No. I'll be here next week. I'll see you then.'

We said our goodbyes.

Now there were just three: me, Pao, and the cook at the eatery where he works.

The day before, I had suggested to Lek, the cook, that I entrust to him the money that I wanted to give Pao for new clothes. Then the two lads could go shopping.

Lek is older, so I thought he would be safe with the money.

However, when he saw me pull B1000 out of my wallet, his mood changed.

'Can I have money to fix my cellphone?' he asked.

'No. I've just met you,' I said.

Pao jumped in.

'That's right - we've known each other about a year now,' he said.

Lek looked miserable, and asked me another half dozen times.

I gave up on the idea of entrusting the money to the cook. I gave Pao the money directly, then went home.

Now I know why I do not live close to Mum's shop. I would never have any money if I did.