Another day, another job over

‘He’s on his way back home...the job was too much. There was nowhere to sit, he had to lift things all day, and has a sore back,’ said Mum.

It was 5pm. I had barely walked in her door. In fact, I hadn’t; I was still standing in the slum alleyway outside her place when she saw me, and started to unload.

Another job over - and this one didn’t even last eight hours. How did we get to this?

Seven hours earlier, I turned up at their place to usher Ball and his girlfriend Jay to work.

I took with me a Chinese fish ball meal (similar to khanom jeen) for the pair to eat before they left home.

A man in a cart sold them outside my condo. I had not seen him before, as I rarely venture out that way before evening.

On this day, however, I wanted to buy Ball and Jay a treat. They were about to start in new jobs, and should have something to fill their tummies first.

It’s just as well I bought them some food: when I turned up at Mum’s place, I saw she had prepared nothing for them to eat.

About 9am, khanom jeen in hand, I joined Mum in her sitting room to await the arrival from upstairs of Mr Ball.

The pair was due at work less than two hours later.

Outside, it was raining heavily.

‘They will probably go to work on the family motorcycle,’ said Mum.

‘If it’s too wet, I will put them in a taxi,’ I said.

When I arrived, girlfriend Jay had just taken a shower. Fifteen minutes later, Ball followed.

He looked chirpy, as if he was looking forward to his new job. He said nothing as he passed me between the stairs and shower.

It’s as if he expects me to be present; or maybe he is irritated by my presence, but is too polite, or accepting to let it show.

Ball and Jay started their first day of work yesterday selling books/newspapers at local department stores.

They applied for jobs at a company which runs stalls there.

The company put them in different locations, as it won’t allow boyfriends and girlfriends to work together.

Jay was assigned to work at a store in Rama 4; Ball, at the same store, only a different branch, on Rama 3.

After what seemed like an age, Ball finished his shower. As they dressed, I heard him and Jay chatting excitedly upstairs.

Twenty minutes later, he re-appeared downstairs, wearing black and white.

This is the standard uniform for sales staff. However, several months had passed since Ball last wore those pants.

His boxers spilled over the back, poking out under his white shirt, as his pants were too tight.

Ball yanked on them, but they would not rise any higher.

‘Drinking too much beer has made him fat, so he longer fits into his pants,’ his Mum told me the previous week.

‘However, I will wait a while before buying him any new ones, as he may not last in the job.’

That was sensible, given the events which would follow. However, for girlfriend Jay, Mum spent B1,000 buying two sets of work clothes.

She looked lovely when she descended the stairs, but said little.

Mum gave them a cellphone each to take to work, with a new phone number. She rents the devices from a local company.

‘They need phones to contact each other, or call home when they finish work,’ said Mum.

Half an hour later, it was time to go. Mum gave me Ball’s number, which I stored in my own cellphone.

I accompanied the young couple out to the family motorbike. Ball was driving. He was to take Jay to work first, and double back to Rama 3 to his own workplace.

Ball gave me a smile.

‘Good luck!’ I said.

Such promising beginnings. The same evening, before I left for work, I dropped in to Mum’s place, when she told me the unwelcome news that both Ball and Jay had decided to quit.

‘They are on their way back. Jay called asking for Ball’s number. A few minutes later, Ball called saying they had quit their jobs,’ said Mum.

I waited for the pair’s arrival.

Ball and Jay must have decided that he would do all the talking, as Jay just sat on the floor, saying nothing.

This is becoming a pattern: whenever this couple has bad news for Mum, Ball is always the one who breaks it to her. His girlfriend stays silent.

‘There was nowhere to sit, and I had to ask permission whenever I wanted to visit the toilet,' said Ball.

'At the start of work each day, we have to lug all the books and magazines out, and at the end of trade take them back again. I have a sore back and feet,’ he complained.

’You should have stayed on in your old job as a security guard,’ replied Mum, who said she would call his old boss to see if he could carry on working there.

‘What did your boss say when you told him you were quitting?’ I asked Ball.

‘He didn’t – I just walked out, without telling him,’ he said.

Ball did the same thing in his last job. When he grew tired of working as a security guard, he simply failed to return the next day.

His boss was none the wiser until he called his mother and asked where Ball had gone.

Thais are such a casual bunch, Ball will probably get back his old job as a security guard in Silom regardless.

We don’t yet know what to do about Jay. When Mum suggested she apply for work at the local 7-11 branch, she poo-pooed the idea.

‘I suspect Jay didn’t like the job at the department store, and called Ball to persuade him to quit too,’ grumbled Mum.

Mum, however, wasn’t about to challenge her about it. It’s just not the way things are done.

Last night about 10pm, work over for the day, I dropped in on my way home. Ball and Jay were playing with the kids. Mum had gone out to play HiLo, in the hope of raising money to keep the family going.

‘Have you eaten?’ I asked Ball.

‘Yes,’ he said politely.

‘Have you had a drink?’ I asked, referring to a beer I bought him earlier.

‘Yes,’ he said, laughing.

‘See you tomorrow.’

I am faithful, if nothing else. In the near future, nothing is likely to get better in this household, and yet still I persevere.

Why? The young are stupid because of their youth, no matter how hopeless their circumstances.

Maybe, one day, I will wake up and find everything has changed.

It’ll take a while. Perhaps that’s what families are for...we just wait, and hope for something better to pay us a visit.

Back to Mum's shop: Family loss, Tock finds a mate

I spent a few hours at my old drinking haunt, Mum’s shop in Pin Khlao.

No, not Ball’s Mum – but the other Mum I know, who runs a small corner shop over that way which I visited regularly before I moved into town.

On a whim, I called her, our first contact in months.

‘I am just back from Isan. My sister lost her son to tuberculosis, and I attended the funeral,’ she said sadly.

‘When would you like to see me?’

I had been thinking of a catch-up, so left home soon after we finished on the phone.

Mum’s younger sister Isra, who is still in the provinces tidying up after the funeral, gets back next week. She spends most of her days in Bangkok, helping Mum and her husband run the shop.

I met Isra’s children most recently three years ago. Her son Bon was aged 16 when he died, two days after being admitted to hospital.

‘He came down with a chest infection before he died, and was always getting the flu. However, there were no signs that this was about to happen,' said Mum.

'He had only just enrolled in school for the new term, but died before he could start,’ she said, crying.

Two women friends in their 40s turned up to boost her spirits as Mum told the sad story of her nephew.

The night was not without funny moments. One woman made supportive sounds for half an hour before Mum realised that they were on different wavelengths.

Her woman friend thought Mum was talking about the death of someone else.

I called Isra to pass on my regrets. We spoke for a minute on Mum's phone when the signal gave up.

Mum called back. ‘Mali has passed on his regrets...so let’s talk about something else,’ she told her sister matter-of-factly. I laughed.

A familiar face turned up at the shop. It was Mr Tock  – a young lad with sad eyes who likes wearing plaid shorts.

He was wearing them again last night when he dropped in to buy cigarettes.

Tock recognised me, and asked where I had been.

'I moved to a new part of town, and don't visit much any more,' I said.

Years ago when I first knew him, I chased Mr Tock down the road to ask if he was single. I also asked Mum to sound him out on my behalf. An excerpt from a blog post back then:

She asked him if he would like to find a mate. 'I would, but no one wants me,' he said sadly. Why should he feel that way, I wonder - because he looks small and feminine? He does, but that's probably not it.

He does not have much money, and knows that Thai girls like to be looked after? That's a more likely explanation, as I have heard it from my straight friends before.

Tock has now found a mate, readers will be pleased to know.

‘I have a girlfriend – and we have a child, aged one,’ he said proudly.

However, Tock, who looked a little worse for wear, was out of a job.

‘I have finished my studies, but can’t find work,’ he said.

Tock made his apologies and left.

Mum and I, meanwhile, joked about my enduring search for Mr Right.

For as long as Mum has known me, I have been chatting up men. We laugh about it, but I know she worries that I will end up with someone who will only break my heart.

While sitting at her shop, I called Mr Noom, a youngster from Isan whom I met a couple of weeks ago close to my work.

He was working at a streetside eatery where I order laab moo before work.

However, a week ago he returned to the provinces to resume his studies.

Mum overheard our conversation.

‘Is that your new fancy man?’ she asked.

'He is...though we are still getting to know each other,' I said.

I also told Mum about my slum friend Ball. Almost apologetically, I mentioned his age - just 19.

‘I don’t care about his age – is he a good person?’ she asked.

As Mum chatted to her friends, I walked into the soi next to her corner store.

I passed a smart cafe/eatery where once I entertained hopes of finding a job for boyfriend Maiyuu, selling bakery products.

Since I last saw the shop, it has expanded to twice its original size, and now has a small bar. I spotted owner Wut, wandering about inside, but few customers.

‘Hardly anyone goes there,’ said Mum.

Pin Khlao, one of the oldest and poorer parts of town, has a large student population. Out here, They appear to prefer taking cheap meals by the roadside, or even barn-like bar-b-que eateries by the river, rather than in the air-conditioned comfort of a cafe.

Mum’s shop itself is all but dead, from what I can tell. Few if any of the young people who used to drink there bother any more.

I have offered to pay a return visit next week, when Mum’s sister Isra will have returned.

-
Ball’s mother called.

Her son was waiting for a drink, she said.

Ball and his girlfriend Jay start work tomorrow.

Yesterday, Mum visited a market to buy the last few pieces of the black and white uniform which Jay will wear to work.

I contributed nothing towards that, but I did give her money towards a pair of work shoes for Ball.

‘I have decided not to buy him any more black slacks. He can wear the ones we wore to his last job, even though they have a hole in one knee. I am not sure how long he will last in his new job, so why take the risk?’ she said.

At Ball’s place, where I turned up an hour later, I did little talking.

At Pin Khlao, I felt my world had grown. Back in the slum, I felt it had shrunk again.

Ball's mother knew I had been in Pin Khlao, but did not seem interested when I told her the story of my ties to that place.

We watched a movie. Ball sat across from me, while his girlfriend perched moodily on the couch between us.

When the alcohol ran out, I left.

Ball’s mother could tell my mood had changed. She asked what time I started drinking.

Her son, who also noticed the change, looked at me with his sad eyes, but said nothing.

I felt sorry for him, but did not linger.

We talk best when we are alone. We seldom get the chance these days, which is a pity. So the game carries on.

Teen slum party, uncle grows detached

It was Ball’s first night back home after three days away at his grandmother’s place.

Ball and his family fled to her place in Onnut to escape power cuts in Klong Toey last Wednesday.

Mum invited half a dozen family members back with them. Ball’s elder brother, Boy was there, as were two youngsters aged about the same as Ball; two or three kids under 10, and their mother, a woman in her 30s.

They joined Ball's family for the night in their cramped slum home.

While the women folk squeezed in to Mum’s bedroom for a sleep, the guys – with Mr Ball acting as host – decided to drink up large in the living room. Mum herself went out for the night, to play HiLo.

Earlier, she called to invite me. Flouting curfew (just a short walk across the vacant lot, dear reader), I turned up to help the young ones celebrate.

It didn’t take Ball long to get into the swing of things.

A couple of times, he ducked out into the slum, returning with friends in tow, so at its busiest point we had 13 teens in the room, including Ball and his girlfriend, Jay, who had decided to let her hair down for once and join us.

Most of the visitors had seen me before.

Still, some behaved painfully in that show-offy way which teens have when in the company of adults.

One lad, who had spiked his hair and fancied himself as a hi-so, liked to talk into his cellphone in a showy manner and look important.

Another, who looked like half Caucasian, half Thai, dragged along his girlfriend. He was the only guy in the room who brought his partner.

He liked to dance and do fancy Indian-style hand movements, especially when he thought I was looking.

Ball was noisy, like the rest, but did not show off. He was our flush-faced barman, busy recharging empty glasses including mine. A couple of times, youngsters in the room dipped in to their own pocket to replenish supplies, but mainly it was me.

Someone set up a CD machine, which played karaoke videos. I was sitting closest to the TV, and the microphone could only stretch so far, so if they wanted to sing, guests had to sit near me.

Ball took a few turns with the microphone. He has a remarkable singing voice – high, nasal, and pretty...almost ghostly in the way it flutters around the notes.

As soon as he finished his first song, he looked at me for a response. ‘Did that sound good?’ he asked.

When he finished, he went back to the centre of the room to resume his duties as host.

At midnight, I cleaned up around the guests. The young ones were feeling the effects of their drink, and were starting to argue. As the rain pelted down, they ducked in and out of Ball's place to smoke.

One bare-chested, sodden youngster - his trousers sagging, and boxers up to his armpits - started to cry.

At 1am, I handed over the reins to the next oldest person in the room – Tum, the boyfriend of Boy’s elder sister – and left for home.

-
Ball and his girlfriend Jay haven’t worked since late last month.

They have found new jobs, staffing sales booths at city department stores. But thanks to the red-shirt troubles on Bangkok’s streets, they have yet to start.

A set of white work shirts hangs in the living room, where they have sat for a week.

I do not ask any longer about their work plans. Once, I would have pumped Ball or his mother with questions like: ‘When is your first day? Do you have all the work clothes you need?'

Now, I wait to be told. And even when told, sometimes I make no response.

What these people make of their lives is up to them, not me. I can’t help, other than by dipping into my pocket occasionally.

I have noticed that whenever I offer to help Ball, he does his best to avoid accepting it.

I bought him a small item of clothing on our last family visit to a department store a couple of weeks ago.

At home, I tossed it to him. He caught it - and threw it into his younger brother’s bedroom, where as far as I know, it remains untouched.

I no longer feel the need to help as much as I did before.

If I spend when he is at home, it’s usually on the brown stuff.

Several weeks ago, I gave Mum some money to help her buy work gear for Ball in the job which he has yet to start.

She bought some of his uniform, but not all. No doubt I will hear about whatever else she needs to buy, the next time she wants to tell me. I may, nor may not, feel like helping.

When we visit the department store or spermarket, I wheel around the cart, or the pram.

I enjoy looking after the toddlers, and watching their interaction with other family members.

Ball and Jay play together, as teens do.

Mum and I can talk, but for the most part – other than when we are drinking – Ball and I have little to say to each other.

In the West, I am an uncle many times over to the children of my brother and sisters. I love them, but seldom get to see them, as I live over here.

I would never ask myself, as I do when in the company of Ball’s family: What am I doing with these people?

Today, Mum and her family are likely to visit the department store again. She is likely to invite me along. It will be another opportunity, in dull moments, for me to ask myself the same thing.

‘Just why are you here?'

Doing the best we can?

Bangkok shortly before curfew, at least in the seedy parts of town I pass as I get from home to work and back, is a forlorn place. Shops are closed, and public transport is out. Kids zip about on motorbikes, pointing at the white face.

Taxis have taken fright. Few ply their trade at night, but they started disappearing even before a curfew was declared for the first time several days ago.

I avoided them even before the curfew regime, as my taxi route home would have taken me past a fortified encampment set up by the red shirts. On foot, I was able to cut across railway lines, over fences and past overbridges unseen.

The city cut the lighting, plunging streets into darkness. But never mind. I still felt safer left to my own devices than having to trust anyone else.

-
I am finding it hard to forgive Thais for what they did. The charm has drained away from this place...whatever it is that keeps me living here took a beating over the past few days of violence, senseless looting, and arson attacks on city landmarks.

Artistic types have started a campaign to bring back Siam’s smile. Actors and singer pose [link harvested - it died] before a director’s camera as they tour the wreckage of Silom, like birds picking over a discarded meal. Good luck to you – I won’t be heading there for a while yet.

However, I admire the fire-fighters, medics and so on who had no choice but to venture into that war zone while the fighting was raging.

I admire even more the unsung street cleaners, utilities men, builders and so on who will have to put the place back together again.

Most of all I have praise for the soldiers, even if some of them wore shooting at random. Many are just kids, serving out their time as conscripts.

-
Ball and family have been away for the last two days. When the red shirt leaders surrendered on Wednesday, extremist elements in their ranks went on a rampage, setting fire to prominent buildings – symbols of the city’s establishment and its elite.

Among their targets was the local electricity company. Power to Ball’s slum was cut. When I dropped in to their place in mid-afternoon, the place was in darkness.

Mum and other members of the household were hurriedly packing their things, ready to evacuate to her own mother’s place about 10min away.

On the first day over there, they busied themselves laying floor tiles. They stayed a second night, and again yesterday. Mum mentioned something about her eldest son, a soldier, paying a visit.

‘We are sleeping tops and tails,’ she told me last night. ‘Ball and his elder sister are sleeping with me,’ she said.

Space sounds as much at a premium at her mother’s place as it is her own.

On the night before he left, I spoke to Ball, who was drunk. He asked me why I spend so much time with him, and so little time with my boyfriend.

‘I think you are lonely and bored,’ he said.

True...I am. In the absence of his family, I have spent the last two days at home with Maiyuu, which was dull if bearable. Thankfully, I am still working, or I would have gone spare.

The next night, when I called his mother, he was drinking again. He could not remember any of our conversation the day before, which is typical.

He’ll be back today. I am working, but will drop in at some point.

I am not used to being absent from Ball and his family for so long, and wonder if we can slip back into our old habits as easily as before.

Idle-taxi driver Lort stayed at home. Two days ago, I dropped in to their place to see him. He was sitting idly on the couch.

The power had just been restored, after a wait of more than 12 hours. Dog shit and other detritus had piled up in the alleyway outside.

An uncle figure who helps the family occasionally takes a broom to the rubbish in the alleyway. I doubt Lort has ever lifted a broom in his life.

If slum families are failed families, Lort is part of what holds this one back from doing any better.

Even in the lead-up to the government’s crackdown this week, some Westerners were comparing Thailand to a failed state.

So, what elements do a Bangkok slum family, and Thailand’s ‘failed state’ have in common?

Domestic drama, crysanthemum make-up

Ball and Jay have found jobs staffing sales booths at city department stores. While they will work for the same company, they are at different locations.

They were to start work yesterday, but the inner-city clashes between red shirt protesters and security forces have forced a delay.

According to girlfriend Jay, the company head called on Sunday evening to say they could stay at home the next two days, as the red shirt mobs have forced department stores to close early.

They should start work on Wednesday instead, he suggested.

However, Jay kept this news to herself for the first 12 hours after the boss called.

When I dropped in to Ball’s place shortly before midnight on Sunday, she told me another story.

‘Tomorrow, you might want to take Ball to work, as I have the day off,’ said Jay.

The next day I turned up at 9am, ready to take him to his new job. I dressed up, in case he wanted me to take him into the department store where he will work. We were supposed to get there at 10.40am.

After greeting his Mum, I mounted the stairs to his room. The door was open. Ball and Jay were sound asleep. I pulled his toes.

‘I don’t have to go to work today,’ he mumbled.

At first, I didn’t get it. I went back downstairs to await The Master’s arrival. Mum had bought food. I put it into bowls, and poured him a cup of water.

Ten minutes later, he staggered downstairs. He did not eat, or talk.

He sat in front of the TV, looking morose. ‘I feel weak,’ he said.

I gave him some money for an energy drink.

After knocking that back, he forced himself to eat...and retired to his mother’s bedroom for more sleep.

Mum was busy with the toddlers and didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

Again, I was confused. What about work?

I massaged Ball’s body as he lay on Mum’s bed, hoping it would give him the strength he needed to get up, take a shower, and get dressed.

‘I don’t have to go to work today,’ he said again.

What?

His girlfriend Jay joined us downstairs.

Slowly it dawned on me that they weren’t going to work, despite what she had told everyone earlier about a Monday start.

Mum, and Ball's elder sister Kae were just as confused.

‘So just when do you intend starting?’ Kae asked Jay.

‘Wednesday,’ she announced.

I was upset. Once, I would have blamed myself for such a misunderstanding. Perhaps I misheard, I would tell myself.

But I knew I wasn’t wrong. I recalled clearly what the little madam had told me the night before. While she would spend the day at home, Ball would have to work. She also invited me to take him there.

As soon as I discovered Ball had no intention of working after all, I left.

However, 10 minutes later I called his mother, as I couldn’t let the matter rest.

‘When did Ball’s boss call to say he wouldn’t be needed at work, when as late as midnight last night, he still intended to go?’I asked.

Mum knew nothing. I was about to take a dip in my condo swimming pool at the time, but decided to go back to clear the matter.

Jay was sitting with Mum on the sofa. Ball was sitting on a chair next to them, in front of the TV.

I demanded Jay explain.

‘Why did you ask me here when you must have known he was not going to work?' I asked.
'I rose early, and raced over here...only to find that Ball had no intention of going,’ I said.

‘I told Ball at 3am today that he could take the day off,’ she admitted.

‘And when did you find out?’

‘Early last evening, while we were shopping,’ she said. Ball had stayed at home, so knew nothing about the call.

Mum and Jay had gone to a department store to buy clothes for their first day at work. She bought Ball and Jay white shirts, but had yet to buy the black trousers he needs.

‘I didn’t want to tell you, just in case you ended up drinking with Ball,’ she said. 'And I wanted Ball to think he was still going to work, so he would go to bed early.'

She deceived us both to keep her boyfriend away from the sauce.

'You assumed I wanted to drink. I didn't. It was midnight...I dropped in to give your mother some food,' I told her.

‘Unless his mother consents, I don’t buy him anything, and I have told you that before,' I said. ‘You have no right to deceive me, or keep your boyfriend in the dark,’ I declared.

As my voice rose, Ball turned up the volume on the TV.

Bail suppresses his worries, which makes him stressed. He can only take so much before lashing out at his girlfriend - usually after hitting the sauce.

Yet here I was, adding to his problems.

An hour or so later, I asked to talk to Mum alone.

She sent Ball and Jay out to perform an errand.

Mum is no fan of Jay. She is lazy, dishonest, and fails to pull her weight around home, she believes.

Nonetheless, she is Ball’s girlfriend, I reminded her – and he’s better off with her than without.

While we sat talking, Ball’s boss called.

Their conversation was over in a moment. According to Mum, the boss asked why Ball had not turned up for work.

What?

‘Jay told Ball he didn’t have to go to work, but I am not sure that’s right,’ said Mum.

‘I suspect she was worried I wouldn’t be able to buy her pants in time, so decided if she had to skip a day’s work, Ball should too,’ she said.

That’s too complicated for my sore head.

But as Ball and Jay returned, I lashed out at her a second time.

‘We’ve caught you out in a lie again,’ I said.

‘What are you talking about?’ she said angrily.

'Your boss never called to say Ball should take the day off - you made it up,' I said.

Mum mumbled something, as she tried to keep the peace. Ball sat down on the floor as if nothing was happening.

Jay fled to her bedroom upstairs in tears, while Mum went out to play HiLo with friends.

I was left with Ball, who said he was stressed and didn’t want to hear any more arguing.

‘She didn’t lie. You misunderstood,’ he insisted.

‘Well, your Mum thinks she lied. We care for you, but go about it in different ways. But if I have to take sides between your mother and Jay, I side with Mum,’ I told him.

‘Yes...but she’s my girlfriend,’ he said.

I looked at him.

‘Next to your girlfriend, I have no rights, Ball...and if you want me to leave, I am happy to go,’ I said.

Jay came down the stairs, her face puffy with tears. ‘Where’s your Mum?’ she asked Ball, over and over. She started packing up her clothes.

Jay had decided to leave, which is her usual reaction when she wants to punish her boyfriend.

I wanted to leave too.

‘I will be back in early evening. In the meantime, please talk to her,’ I told Ball. ‘It’s possible that Mum and I have misunderstood,’ I said.

Jay is his girlfriend, and as such she takes priority, no matter what Mum thinks, or what I want.

I don’t like making people cry, but nor will I stand by Jay as deceives me, and withholds information from her boyfriend.

‘Please insist on dealing with all work matters yourself – even if you do work for the same company,’ I told him.

As I sit in Ball’s cramped home, sometimes I look at the slum alleyway outside, longing for a catalyst, some drama which will test Ball's loyalty to me, or my own loyalty to his family...some crisis which will give us all our freedom, and the chance to start again.

PS: Two hours later, I went back with a peace offering. Ball had gone out with his younger brother to play football. I took a bunch of chrysanthemum flowers for Jay, and apologised.

I spoke to her for 20min. Her spirits improved. We agreed to start again.