Broken lift blues

The lift at my condo breaks down often, but it is good to know that the office is on top of the problem.

Maiyuu has been stuck inside the thing at least once, when the doors failed to open.

I was trapped inside briefly another time, when the lights and the feeble air-conditioning also gave out.

Two other tenants were in the lift with me. If the doors had taken much longer to open, we would have been in trouble.

The other night, the lift was broken when I came home from work. I had to walk up seven flights of stairs to get home.

After the recent series of break-downs, the condo office has now hired a lift repair firm to fix the thing whenever the need arises.

It has posted three notices in the lift for tenants' inspection over the last week.

They are written in Thai, and direct occupants who encounter problems to call the repair firm.

The first notice which went up gives three numbers. The second notice gave a number where a repair man can be reached 24-hours a day.

The most recent notice urges tenants who encounter lift problems not to 'reset' the lift themselves.

'This can make it hard for the repair man to identify what is wrong, so please leave the lift alone,' the notice reads.

Reset it? The lift has only so many buttons which tenants can press.

As for the notices with all the phone numbers, I assume they have gone up in the lift so that we can call for help should we get stuck in there. Let's hope we can still get a cellphone signal out.

Yet still the problem persists. A hand-written sign telling me the lift was broken was posted on the ground floor when I went down yesterday afternoon.

Someone forgot to remove the sign. The lift had been fixed since the notice went up, as I had just travelled downstairs in the thing.

Nor is the problem confined to our building. The lift in the car-parking building at the far end of the complex has also broken several times in the last week.

Do lifts go peculiar in hot weather? Perhaps the condo needs to change its lift repairers. At this rate, they could move office to our condo, and rarely be out of work.

Swimming surprise

Maiyuu and I have gone swimming together in the condo pool twice over the last two days.

What's going on? Once, he couldn't be bothered even leaving the condo. Maiyuu appears to be opening up to the world, and even to his boyfriend, which is always welcome.

We have lived together in Bangkok for nine years, but until our first visit to the condo pool the other day, I had never seen Maiyuu swim.

In fact, I didn't think he could swim.

Years ago, when visiting Sataheep on the Chon Buri coast together, he declined to enter the sea with me. I had to go in alone, while he stayed on the beach, smoking with his friends. 'I am not a strong swimmer,' he said.

Since then, we haven't been near a beach or pool together - until he asked me the other day if he could accompany me on my morning swim.

Actually, I rarely do strokes. As befits an old person, mainly I just soak my bones.

However, I was delighted to find that not only can Maiyuu swim - freestyle, breaststroke, backstroke - he's actually rather good.

'How did you learn to swim?' I asked. 'Did you take lessons at school?'

'No lessons...I just watched the way other people do it.'

'I thought you told me you couldn't swim...'

'I can swim, I'm just not good at it,' he replied.

Maiyuu has worn a different pair of swimming briefs to the pool each day. He also dons a pair of Louie the Fly-style swimming goggles.

On day one, he let me put my arms under his body, to guide him through the water like a torpedo.

'This way, you don't have to swim at all,' I said.

The pool is mainly free of people during the day, which is the way we like it.

Condo staff barely look at us...they must be used to the sight of us by now. One middle-aged tenant gave me a long look as we walked past her place to the pool.

If I owned a gay wedding ring, I would have flashed it at the nosy woman, to let her know we were a couple, not just casual friends of the night.

Actually, I don't own a ring from Maiyuu. Nor am I married to him.

We are not about to get married. Still, we might be able to do something about the ring.

Stuffed squid, vacant looks

'You never knew my mother, but you are lucky - you get to taste her best recipes, through me,' boyfriend Maiyuu told me.

Maiyuu last night made a dish of stuffed squid, just like his mother used to make it.

His mother, who was a terrific cook, used to make it when Maiyuu was a boy.

Maiyuu remembers how good it tasted, and last night set about making the dish himself.

In the afternoon, we went to the Central department store on Rama 3 to buy the ingredients.

Maiyuu says our local Tops supermarket did not have everything he needed. He cycled down there in the morning to buy the squid from a fresh market opposite. He bought the mince, coriander and other things he needed at the Central supermarket.

Like the Tops supermarket, the one at Central is also within walking distance, as Maiyuu discovered yesterday. We argued while I was there, which resulted in him having to walk back alone. He had run out of money to get home, and stormed off before I could give it to him.

I went home by taxi, while he walked. He turned up 10 minutes after me. We argued again, he locked himself in his room, but within another two hours, it was over.

Before making the stuffed squid dish in the evening, he whipped up a Mexican tortilla for us each. Those ingredients also came from the supermarket at Central.

Why did we argue? After finishing at the supermarket, we walked around the shops on the upper floors.

Maiyuuu reckons I was walking in a daze, which annoyed him. I told him I would window-shop in any manner I chose - dazed, fully alert, or whatever.

As I say, we put that argument behind us. It just wasn't worth dwelling on.

Nitpicking at the outreach clinic, tenant's revenge

I saw a doctor close to work the other night. I visit a clinic staffed by doctors from Chulalongkorn Hospital.

That's a fancy hospital, but the clinic, which is in a slum, is not.

I asked about my ear, which feels sore and blocked.

'Did you play Songkran?' the doctor, a woman in her 30s, asked immediately.

When I first entered the clinic, the doctor was sitting behind the counter slurping on a Pepsi. From her casual appearance I took her to be a nurse, but I was wrong.

'No...I'm too old for that,' I replied.

Songkran revellers like to squirt each other with water, which can cause infections if it is dirty.

'I swim every day, but at the moment the water in the condo pool is green,' I said.

The doctor looked inside my ear and told me the canal was swollen.

She gave me two types of pills - one to abate pain, the other to cure the infection.

They are general all-purpose pills which dispensing staff keep behind the counter in jars.

The clinic, as I say, is in a poor area, where patients probably cannot afford expensive drugs. If I wanted a drug specific to ears, I might have to go somewhere smarter.

The dispensing counter, where patients report when they arrive, sits outside the only consulting room.

Two staff, possibly nurses, sit behind the counter looking after patients. As I handed over my prescription, one nurse was standing, peering into the other woman's scalp.

She held a pair of tweezers. She was parting the woman's hair with her other hand, as if looking for something. Every few seconds, she would pluck something out of her scalp, then lay it to rest on one of the jars in front of her. These drugs are so all-purpose, staff keep them in jars.

What was it? Nits, fleas, lice?

I didn't ask. The woman who was having her head examined took a quick look at my script, and started transferring my pills from jars into clear plastic bags.

We chatted, while the woman next to her carried on inspecting her head. She did not stop, nor did the woman serving me ask her to take a break.

She rarely looked up as she filled my prescription. She had to keep her head bowed while the woman poked about in her scalp with tweezers.

Snip, snip! Scratch, scratch!

The doctor came out to join them behind the counter. She resumed drinking her Pepsi on ice from a plastic bag.

'Why do I have to take so many tablets - four at a time, three to four times a day?' I asked.

'Farang have big muscle mass, so you need more,' she said, as she sucked on her straw.

The nurse handed me my little bags of pills, and I paid.

As I left, she was still having her head examined.

I hope they remember to clean the jar where she kept her lice deposits. If not, the next patient may end up taking away more than just pills!

-
Farang C and I have decided to tackle the parking offenders at our condo in our own way.

Farang C is both my neighbour, and a colleague. We get sick of tenants parking outside our condo building, as it obstructs access.

Last night, we decided to do something about it.

At work, I drew up a notice which says in block letters: 'This is not a carpark. Go away!'

Farang C promptly took it to the photocopier and made 20 copies.

He gave some to me, and kept the rest. Now, when either of us spots a parking offender, we shall (in theory, at least) put one of these screaming notices under the guy's windshield.

We shall also hope he doesn't catch us while we are doing it.

The condo cleaners did what they could. They erected barriers of potted plants outside our building - number 2 in the complex - where lazy tenants like to leave their cars rather than carrying on to the carparking building at the far end.

Even with the potted plants, some owners still leave their cars there for extended periods.
One stubborn Mercedes owner even took to parking right in the condo entrance, until security guards filled the space with traffic cones.

I found the cleaner again yesterday, and asked if the Mercedes owner is Thai. He is indeed, she said.

That's good. If a farang caught me sticking a rude note under his wiper, he might get angry.

I would think twice about leaving a nasty note for a farang. So few foreigners drive cars in this town, he is probably inordinately proud of his status vehicle.

Thais are more passive, but might still ignore the message - we will see.

Croissant surprise, stubborn motorists, PAD plots

Boyfriend Maiyuu made a tasty snack with sliced bread which looks like croissant.

He made toasted ham and cheese sandwiches out of it. It looks like ordinary bread, except it has flaky texture like pastry.

The surface is covered in pastry circles and whirls which we normally associate with croissant bread rather than the plain sliced stuff.

But he didn't make the bread component himself. 'I bought it at the 7-11,' he said proudly. 'I have only ever seen it there.'

-
Two of the cleaners at my new condo had a good idea. Why not drag potted plants into the courtyard area, to stop cars parking there?

This condo, as smart as it is, has a small problem: tenants (or visitors staying the night) park their cars in our courtyard.

They drive in the entrance to the condo, but rather than carry on to the parking building at the far end of the complex, stop in front of the place where they are spending the night.

A fountain sits in the middle of the courtyard closest to my building.

Motorists are supposed to do a U-turn back out, or carry on to the parking building to the east.

Most tenants just stop at the fountain, as they can't be bothered.

This is annoying, as the rest of us must pick our way through their vehicles to get to the entrance.

The courtyard is part of a children's playing area, but if the cars are there, kids can't use it.

A sign tells motorists not to park in front, other than for short visits. Most ignore it.

Small potted frangapane trees sit on the courtyard periphery. Two cleaners yesterday dragged them into the space where the cars normally park, to deter them.

It worked, up to a point.

Last night when I came home from work, I saw that one stubborn motorist had decided not to take the hint.

He managed to find a place to put his large silver car in that restricted space anyway.

'Some idiot Thai has decided to park his car in front, in spite of all the evidence that says he shouldn't,' my colleague and neighbour farang C complained in a text message. He must have seen it, too.

'I think we may need to put a rude notice on his car,' I replied.

As I write, I am contemplating what to say.

If I write in Thai, and the owner is indeed Thai, he will probably just ignore it.

If I write in English, he'll get a fright, I hope.

Now, how best to put it?

-
'The yellows hired thugs to commandeer the LPG tankers during the street riots,' an Esan trader told me.

'Can you imagine the reds setting fire to buses? I can't. The yellows were behind that as well,' she said as she was making my lunch.

The woman runs a small eatery close to my condo. It consists of a few plastic tables and chairs, a cooking area, fridge, and a tarpaulin cover to keep away the rain.

The shop is a short walk from my condo and the serviced apartment opposite, which has many farang tenants.

Despite that, few foreigners ever visit this eatery, perhaps because they are fussy about their food.

It is clean - by Esan standards, anyway.

I have visited her shop a few times to eat khao pad krapao. The owner, a woman in her 40s, runs the place with her husband, but has plenty of help...at least two other women were cooking.

Her teenage son also turns up regularly, as do the young motorcycle taxi drivers who have a perch outside our place.

The other day I started chatting to the owner about politics. Coming from the Northeast as she does, it was no surprise to find she likes the reds over the yellows.

The reds were not really behind the mayhem on the streets last week, she reckons. The evil yellows hired thugs to do it instead, to impersonate the reds and undermine their credibility.

The reds (United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship) back former leader Thaksin Shinawatra, whose support base is in the North and Northeast.

The yellows come from the People's Alliance for Democracy, backed mainly by Bangkok middle-class types, bureaucrats, and the palace.

Next time I visit, I shall ask the owner's name, as I want to write about her again.

If I have been looking for a new Thai crowd where I can mix, I may have found it at this little fence-side shop.

For now, however, it is enough to know that she is as steadfast as any other northeasterner in her support of Thaksin, and loathing of the PAD.

Her son, who was raised in Bangkok, can't see the point in supporting either side.

'The yellows are happy, as the Democrats are in office. But when the next election comes, they will be booted out and the Thaksin-backed crowd will come back in.

'Then the yellow protests will start again, and so on it goes. The trouble will never end,' he says philosophically.

Next time I visit, I shall also ask about an attempt yesterday on the life of PAD leader Sondhi Limthongkul.

The media 'firebrand' was shot up by bad guys as he was on his way to work.

Sondhi, post-op

Gunmen following his vehicle opened fire with automatic weapons. More than 100 shells were found, but Sondhi sustained only a surface wound to the head.

The PAD reckons that renegade factions of the military or police might be behind it.

After a three-hour operation at Wachira Hospital to remove shrapnel from his head, Sondhi was moved to Chulalongkorn Hospital.

Security for Prime Minister Abhisit Veijjiva has been tightened.

I am sure my new Esan friends can find an equally plausible explanation for that one. I am looking forward to hearing it.