Talking heads

A few readers have sent me messages criticising my moderation policy on the blog. Some find it scary or intimidating to have their comments subject to scrutiny first.

I welcome hearing what readers have to say, as I think this blog is a much better place when readers respond to the posts.

However, I am not prepared to accept comments which are negative for the sake of it. Most unpleasant comments are written about Maiyuu, by people who know him only through this blog.

If those comments provoked debate among followers of this blog about Maiyuu's actions or my response, they wouldn’t be so bad; but most tend to ignore negative comments posted under the anonymous label, which raises the question of what they add to the blog or why I should bother publishing them.

As I have said before, I am constantly surprised at how unpleasant some readers can be. It is as if they have an axe to grind, or are bitter about their own experiences in Thailand and wish everyone else shared their misery.

Another factor which makes it difficult to lift the moderation bar is the amount of spam which this blog gets. I would rather stop the spam when it gets to my mailbox, not when it has already appeared on the blog, as no one wants to read spam either.

Having said all the above, most reader reaction – even the critical stuff – does get published. One anonymous critic posted unfavourably about Maiyuu the other day. I did not approve it straight away, but eventually it did go up.

I can’t help but noticing that when Maiyuu does something right, the anonymous critics who are so quick to savage him when he slips up stay remarkably quiet. I wonder why?

The next time one of Maiyuu's critics has something to say, perhaps he'd like to tell us why it should be published. What is the purpose it is trying to achieve?

I may well approve it anyway, but it will an interesting exercise in flushing out his own motives, should he be willing to oblige.

Maiyuu the baker spreads his wings

Maiyuu has contacted two cafes which take in bakery products from outside for sale.

He will take in a sample of baking for the owner of each place to try. Both are close to where we live.

‘I will probably make two different types: a dry or crunchy product, such as buttercake, and a moist one which needs refrigeration, such as the berry cream cake [see pictures],’ he said this morning, as he mused over what to make for them to try.

One shop takes in baking from many suppliers, mainly big companies.

‘That could be a good selling point for you – the fact that yours is home-made, not factory-produced,’ I said.

‘Thais aren’t interested in that. They care about the price,’ said Maiyuu.

One of the stores has no fridge, so he would have to sell dry products to that one. He would sell on the basis of consignment, or kai fak (ขายฝาก), where he has to take the loss if the owner fails to sell any of his goods.

Few buyers are interested in the alternative, song kai (ส่งขาย) where they buy the goods and take on the risk themselves if they fail to sell.

Bakery job hunt, stretchy man delight

Maiyuu is looking for shops which might like to offer his bakery for sale.

He says he is sick of sitting at home all day, cooking for me and friends, so why not bake for money instead?

When I walked into his room a moment ago, he was taking down details from one place, which he found at a job search website. I wish him luck.

 
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I fancy a young man in the condo office with a long, stretchy body like a snake; another guy with broad shoulders who sells noodles next to the 7-11 in the slum area; and yet another young man who sells at the 7-11 store itself.

All are tallish, one is probably gay. I am spoilt for choice.

The noodles guy, wearing a university or technical college uniform, turns up some days to help his sister run the place.

The 7-11 guy is seldom there when I visit, perhaps just once a week. He knows I like looking, and the last couple of times has quickly averted his gaze. Once a gay hopeful, now consigned to the straight bin.

The stretchy man in the office, meanwhile, is there every day.

I steal looks at him daily, too, though I know my imagination would settle more quickly if I stopped.

Self-discipline is called for, I tell myself. Today I looked at him just the once.

Dejected boyfriend, lonely cafe, unloved staff vacancy

I am going home to visit my family next month, but Maiyuu is worried I won’t come back.

Since we argued a few days ago about money, he has seemed less confident than usual.

He rarely bothers to look ‘cheery’ as such, but his spirits appear to have taken a dive.

‘Why would you come back? You will probably stay over there,’ he said bitterly.

I pressure him to supplement our income by finding work. However, most of the suggestions I offer fail to draw his interest.

I visited a cafe in the tourist district where we live yesterday. I took farang C along for company, while the boyfriend stayed at home.

The cafe, open just a few months, makes its own Danish-style baking.

It has seating for perhaps 10, so the staff of two would not be overwhelmed even when it does get busy.

I spoke to the staff briefly. The owner, who was absent, has one other cafe bearing his name in Pin Khlao, with a third cafe, in Lat Phrao, about to open.

A sign on the window advertises a staff vacancy.

‘We make our own bakery products, in fact do everything ourselves,’ one young woman told us. The owner was absent.

Farang C, who ordered his lunch there, tucked into a toastie and soup. ‘It’s just like food from home,’ he said approvingly.

The place offers home delivery, but has yet to arrange a takeaway menu. All bakery produce is wrapped individually, with a sticker carrying the shop name.

‘If they added the shop address and phone number, they could offer their bakery items for sale in other shops,’ I told farang C.

Back at home, I gave Maiyuu the details. He said he knows the place. The shop is too quiet, he said. If he took a job there, he’d be sitting around all day doing nothing.

‘I do not stay cooped up at home either. But nor do I want to take a job only to have to quit a few days later when it fails to suit me,’ he said.

When I met Maiyuu nine years ago, he was working in a city cafe. He is right: the work can be hard, and unrewarding.

I would rather he found an outlet for his cooking talents rather than toil away serving customers.

However, a course in bakery or cooking, for which savings would be needed, would give him a formal qualification, which he could use to start his own bakery or cooking business.

I can only visit so many of these silly places – and cafes really are silly places – in the hope of finding some shop where Maiyuu is willing to work.

I attempted to put Maiyuu's fears to rest that I will not return from overseas, despite his reluctance to get a job.

‘We've been together this long, so of course I will come back. If we love each other, we just can’t walk away,’ I said.

Fellow Thai-seating sufferer

I didn’t know my problems with office seating were shared by others here, but I am not surprised.

We bought a locally-made office chair for the home computer the other day. It has wheels, but the seat reclines, hurting my legs and my back.

The Thais who make such things appear to think their occupants will be tiny, and will enjoy reclining rather than sitting forward, even though, in most cases, they may have to use it in front of a computer.

If I am sitting at a computer for hours, the chair must be comfortable, adaptable, and preferably with coasters (wheels) as well.

It's new, so I will have to put up with it, but that doesn't make it any easier.

Regular reader Yraen has encountered similar problems with Thai-made office seating...

‘It seems the basic proposition is that one should weigh less than 75Kg and that one should be semi-reclined in the chair (despite it being built for work, allegedly).

'The other basic criteria appears to be that the seat should be so hard that one MUST stand up every 4-5 minutes to allow blood-flow and feeling to return to one's b u m and legs.

'My only solution was to go around some of the stores, try out lots of different chairs then buy one that suited me. It cost a bit more but I can now get to spend a reasonable amount of time at the PC.' 

I have a similar problem with the primitive seating at work.

My last company, in the West, employed an occupational health nurse, who knew her ergonomics. She instructed us how to sit correctly in front of the computer to avoid occupational overuse problems, such as repetitive strain injury, a bad back, sore shoulders...

She would tour the office, inspecting our seating posture, and check whether the desk and computer height was right for our height and shape.

Does this country even know about occupational health nursing?

I can't recall the last time my employer bought us new seating or desks at work.

The desk is too low for my height, and the chair can be moved upwards only so far.

I prop up my flimsy keyboard on books and a door snake, tilted up at an angle, so my fingers can hit the keys more accurately.

I can raise or lower the part of my desk where the keyboard sits, but not much. Occasionally I put a book under the VDU as well.

If these measures fail I can stick my knees under the part of my desk where the keyboard sits, and lift my legs, elevating it further. It’s primitive, but that’s the best I can do.

I am amazed more staff do not call in sick with RSI, as we called it in my day. No one makes a fuss, but I am not surprised. My workplace has little history of workers taking action to assert their rights. We have a staff union, but I never hear from them.

We go into work for as long as we are happy or able. When we get sick of it or find something better, we leave.