Unpaid bills

Today is pay day. I was the first to wake, as I usually am. I turned on the computer and found I could get no internet.

I tried the phone. A recorded message told me that service had been suspended. Without a phone line, we could get no internet either.

I recall getting a call from the phone company a few days ago, warning us the bill was due to be paid.

I found the phone bill, which was unopened. It had been sitting at home since Sept 2, when it arrived.

A payment of B850 was due on Sept 27. It is now two weeks later. No wonder the phone company gave up. They suspended our service, to make sure we paid.

I woke the boyfriend, and told him the phone service had been suspended. He left home in good spirits, to pay the bill, buy groceries, and do other household jobs.

By the time he returned, service to our phone line had also been restored, so I could use the internet.

That was a relief. I had feared they could keep us waiting for days.

If someone issues a bill, it's usually because he wants to be paid.

Maiyuu has been sitting at home watching movies all day for weeks. He could have at least opened the thing.

I don't want to turn into one of those grannies in the West who opens her bill, circles the due date, pays it days in advance, then worries about whether they will get her payment or whether they will cut her service inexplicably.

But nor can I understand this lackadaisical Thai attitude about paying bills and keeping the household running.

A bill? So what. Let 'em wait.

Living with noise

Noisy chickens live in a chicken coop along the railway line next to my condo.

A middle-aged man who raises them lives in a tin-roofed shack, the kind you see in slums.

In modern touchy-feely language, it's a 'community'. That's also the word they use in Thai, though in a Stalinesque touch they might call it 'Community No 2' after giving the name of the local area. But what they really mean is 'slum'.

Passenger trains roar past on the single line which runs past his place, and my condo next to it, every day. In peak times, they pass every 10 minutes.

They create a terrific noise, as the Railways of Thailand runs mainly old, run-down locomotive stock.

One train yesterday stopped about 20 metres short of the platform.

Maybe the driver was asleep. He had trouble getting the locomotive to move again, so did what all drivers do - just clamped his foot on the accelerator. The thing did not budge.

'Brrmmmmmm!' the train roared. The train still refused to move, so the driver revved the engine again, and again.

A man in a railway kiosk drops a wooden barrier across the railway line every time a train is about to pass, so cars know when to stop. He came out of his kiosk and stared.

'I can do a better job than that,' he appeared to be thinking.

Eventually the train moved on, and made it to the platform.

The birds in the shack only add to noise levels.

The man with the shed keeps up to a dozen birds there. The number keeps increasing, which is bad news. What happened to bird flu?

He might raise them for their eggs, or sell the birds for their meat when Chinese festivals roll along. Boyfriend Maiyuu reckons he actually raises them as fighting birds.

In any event, they make a terrific din. Someone only has to walk into that shed and they will start squawking.

I can hear the melee from the birds from my condo on the ninth floor. They compete with the noise from the railway, and is so loud that it is starting to drive me mad.

The third chief source of noise in my life, my inconsiderate Chinese neighbours, also causes me stress.

I can probably do nothing about the railway, as it is a public service. As for my Chinese neighbours, I have complained many times. What's left?

The squawking feathered ones are kept in dirty upturned rattan baskets under a tin shed with open sides. If the noise carries on, I might have to pay their owner a visit.

Will he be in a fighting mood, like his wretched birds?

Vacuum him up

The boyfriend has returned from a couple of days at work, and relations between him and I are strained.

Maiyuu denies anything is wrong, but he walks around with a sour look on his face, and hardly talks.

I am not sure what I have done wrong, or if he is just missing his friends.

Perhaps he enjoyed the last two days away from home and now that he is back remembers what a miserable life we lead.

That's probably not it, but still, it's awkward. Hopefully he will thaw out soon.

A friend is thinking of buying a robot vacuum cleaner, the type which moves around the home by itself, like an automatic pool cleaner.

My boyfriend sleeps during the day, and again at night. If I bought a robot vacuum and turned it on while I went out for lunch, could I come back home to find my boyfriend had been vacuumed up?

Pictures I have seen on the internet are not promising. The robot vacuums are small, so their dust bags would be even smaller.

From one website:

'With remote capabilities, these vacs are a real benefit for people who have mobility problems.'

They must mean my BF; he has mobility problems, in that he doesn't like to get up from sleeping position.

'This domestic robot is a flat, disk-shaped device. It’s flat so it can go under furniture. It would reach all those places a normal vacuum can’t. So there’s no need to move sofas, stools, and low-set tables.'

...Or Thai boyfriends?

'The robot vacuum is made disk-shaped so it can go around furniture’s legs and wall corners effectively, cleaning as it goes. It also features a bumper to absorb possible collision with a solid object along its way.'

Solid object = Thai boyfriend, in which case it won't suck him up. Does it come with a user-programming feature?

Bustling canal scenes

The internet connection to my condo was down this morning, so for the first time in weeks I left home before midday to take a look around the market.

The sun was not long up, and the river calm when I visited the canal, which is usually my first port of call. It was shortly after 8am. City workers on boats were picking up rubbish from the canal using forks on the end of long rods. Tourists were speeding past in long-tailed boats.

Other than that, the scene was quiet...for about 10 minutes.

Then, youngsters from the local school started arriving. They like the pier, because they can smoke. Actually, Thai youngsters can light up any time – they are not too fussed who sees them. But at the pier, they are away from the prying eyes of adults on the street.

They arrived in dribs and drabs, some on motorbikes, other on foot. Some wore white shirts, others green. A few were clutching what looked like homework sheets, or reports from school.

At one point, 30 youngsters were perched on the rickety pier itself, or on the wooden handrails. When tourists went past on their boats, the youngsters cheered and waved; tourists lifted their cameras, and clicked.

Most looked normal. A few wore lip gloss. One was obviously gay, or a kathoey. Another lad wore lip gloss, and a huge ear stud in one ear. Almost all wore their shirts pulled out. Most were sopping wet with sweat, despite the early hour.

The school term has ended for many schools, so these youngsters might have been taking tuition outside class.

I am curious to find out, as I would like to know what extent schools impose order on their lives. Judging by what I saw in the market this morning, the answer is: Not much.

Diagram of the local school

One lad who I know bounded up to me to ask if I had been to work yet.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I go this evening.’

He knows what I do.

Some of his friends were surprised to see us talking. ‘I am beginning to have doubts about you...’ one lad told him.

My young friend was wearing a watch with a shocking pink plastic strap. ‘He knows my mother,’ he replied.

I do? That’s flattering, but if I do know his Mum, I can’t remember who she is, or where I met her.

‘He’s just sitting there baking in the sun,’ another remarked, unimpressed to see this farang occupying valuable benchseat space on the pier. ‘Ai hiya!’

That’s an unflattering remark in Thai, but from the mouths of youngsters this age means nothing. It’s a staple part of their vocabulary, along with other vulgarisms such as ‘ai-sut’, ‘mueng’, and ‘koo’. I ignored him, though it gave me a start at the time.

The pier is close to a fenced playing area where local youths – usually older than this group – play football. Next to that is an unfenced area where youngsters of all ages shoot hoops. These playing areas are under an overbridge, which passes next to the pier.

I sat at the pier for 20 minutes, then went for a noodle in another open area under the bridge where oldies from the market gather every night to perform a Thai version of tai chi.

‘You are here early this morning,’ said the woman who owns the noodle stand. ‘Can’t you sleep?’

Yesterday, she saw me sitting at a table, head in hands. The noodle woman knew what I was thinking.

‘Thai politics – don’t think too much, it’s not worth it,’ she said.

School-aged youngsters were gathered at tables around me. Some had brought their motorbikes. Others were still whizzing about, three or four youngsters to a bike.

They whipped past me as I sat eating my noodle. If I had moved my arm a little to the right, a passing bike would have hit me.

The bikes roar, of course, but no one seems fussed. At this hour of the day, people in the market are used to it being taken over by Thai youth.

And they were indeed everywhere. Some gathered in small knots under the bridge, but most were walking – going where? To school, or back from it?

Others roared about on the street on bikes. They, too, were going places, though I have no idea where. One group of youngsters sitting on a bike passed a youth sitting on the sidewalk with a girl. He had dyed his hair blond, and looked like he might be part of the local ‘element’.

The boys on the bike called out a greeting.

‘There’s too many on your bike...ai-sat [an unlovely expletive]...you’ll crash and die,’ he replied.

About 20-30 youngsters in uniform were waiting on my side of the road for buses, vans, and tuk tuk. As I walked through the market, I saw another large group on the other side of the road, waiting for buses to take them somewhere else.

One stream of youngsters was walking up a street from a local school. A few were heading on motorbikes in the direction of a secondary school attached to a local temple.

And as I returned to the relative peace of my condo, I shared a lift with four or five female secondary students, clutching school papers and bags.

I had no idea that my market could be so lively at 8am. The next time my internet goes down, I shall have to expose myself to it again.

Still cause for hope

I saw Mr Esan outside the condo a couple of nights ago. He was wearing a shirt, which is always a surprise, as he likes to take it off about midnight. He claims he's hot. I reckon he likes to show off his tattoos.

He was talking to his girlfriend via one of those clever phones which hangs around the neck. I didn't see it, nor the earpiece in his ear. His girlfriend was probably listening in on our conversation, but I don't care.

I can't remember how the conversation started, or even much of what we said, as I have been walking around in a daze since violence erupted on the streets of Bangkok on Tuesday. I watched too much of it unfold on television, and was in shock.

However, I am pleased to report that Mr Esan, whose real name is Ton, responded like any typical straight male who discovers a farang is interested in him. He asked me to spend money on him.

Ton was sitting with his security guard friend, who is also from the Northeast. He noticed I was carrying three cartons of food, which I order every night from a place in the market opposite our condo.

'What do you have there?' he asked.

'I don't know...I haven't looked yet,' I said.

'Why don't you give one box of food to the security guard, in case he runs out of food?'

I looked at them both. No, thanks.

'Have you eaten?' I asked Ton, for want of anything better to say.

'No...I have no money. Why don't you buy me some food?'

I looked at him. No, thanks.

I asked his name, told him mine, then went back to my condo to bed.

-
I am spending an hour down by the canal every day, watching the boats go by. It eases stress.

It is not fun watching Thais attack each other on the streets, nor read the grim reports in the Thai media which follow - post-mortems on the violence, inflamed editorials predicting the government will fall, academics calling on the government to resign, threats by protesters to take the government to court, boycotts by doctors, airline pilots...

School is out for the term, and every day local teens pile onto the pier to swim, or chew the fat. They have better things to talk about than violence on the streets.

'Don't bother following news of the conflict - Thais are hopeless,' one young man told me.

He had asked me, as Thais often do, if I liked living here.

'I do...but Thais like to fight each other,' I lamented on the day that police and protesters were attacking each other outside parliament.

'Thais make a big deal out of nothing...they fight, and then it goes away again,' another young man told me.

I am making friends with the youngsters who come to the pier. They ask me where I live, which country I come from, whether I have a girlfriend, and a job.

'Do you have a girlfriend - or a boyfriend?' one lad asked me craftily.

'And do you know the other farang who lives around here, who comes across as gay?' he asked.

Am I really that obvious? I thought to myself.

'I am not telling,' I said.

He held a cellphone to my ear, and asked me to translate the lyrics of a rap song which was playing.

'I can't understand what they are saying,' I said.

My young friend looked disappointed.

'Why not - it's English, isn't it?'

'They have a language all of their own,' I said.

A couple of young men asked me to dance to the music coming from their cellphone radios.One lad, who has a girlfriend, asked me if she was a 'beau-tee'.

'A what?'

'Beau-tee-ful,' he said.

'Yes, she is,' I said. The girl thanked me.

I see a couple of the lads often, as they live around the area. One lad, older than the rest, said he had left school and now sells CDs at Klong Thom market in Bangkok.

'The protests have scared all the customers...today there was no one around, so I finished work early and came here with my friends for a swim,' he said.

A young man with a tongue stud said his birthday was coming up. 'I am 11. I do not expect to get presents from my mother, as she does not have much money.

'At my age, I do not expect presents, but when I was a boy, if she did not give me presents, I used to get upset with her,' he said.

I talked to the youngsters in the gathering darkness for about an hour, before leaving for home.

The young are lively and energetic, and fill us with hope. I felt I was meant to meet them. In a melancholy moment at home, I realised that this year marks the 20th anniversary of my entry to the workforce.

I suspect the day I met this youngsters coincides with some occasion I have forgotten, but which someone in the Heavens wanted me to mark - perhaps the day, all those years ago, when I found my first job.

I was young, with my future ahead of me, much like those youngsters having fun by the pier. Back in those days, I was so enthusiastic, I used to set up appointments to meet people - and pedal off to see them on my pushbike.

I hope that, 20 years from now, they too can look back on their youth and realise - as I do now - that this is the most enjoyable and carefree time of their lives. They can never get it back, once it's gone, so I hope they make the most of it.