Dodgy car offer

I am contemplating buying a car on behalf of Mum's daughter, Kae.

She wants to buy a Chevvy with her boyfriend, but they don't have enough money to get finance approved.

They have asked me to buy it in my name, because I earn enough to satisfy the finance company.

I would buy the thing, but Kae and her boyfriend Tum, who have jobs, would pay it off. After 12 months, I can transfer ownership to them.

Kae and her boyfriend assure me they can make the payments, even though the finance company is reluctant to approve the loan.

'We have enough money, but the finance company is worried it may be too little,' Tum told me.

I didn't understand that remark, and told him so.

Confusingly, Tum said he would act as guarantor if they failed to make payments.

'How can they accept you as guarantor when they wont let you buy it?' I asked.

I was unable to get a clear answer. Let's put it down to one of those infallible Thai mysteries.

'At this stage of our lives, we have no debt, so would like to establish our foundations by buying a car,' said Kae.

'In a few years, our son will be old enough to start school. Our expenses will go up, and we may not get this chance again.'

The pair owns a motorcycle, but Kae tells me they have paid it off. Payments on the car would amount to B6,500 a month.

Ball, who is nursing a grievance with his sister since they argued a few weeks ago, doesn't like the sound of it.

'We already own a pick-up truck; why do they want a car as well?' he asked.

'It will only increase financial pressure on Mum, as they are bound to want to borrow money from her if they can't make ends meet,' he told me.

If I sign my name to the arrangement, we have wait for word from the finance company as to whether it is willing to approve the loan. I hope the finance company says no.

If it says yes, I become the owner of a second-hand, five-year old Chevvy.

Who would insure the thing? I have no idea.

I hope the pair don't get into any scrapes in the thing, or hit anyone with it. Nor would I want them breaking the traffic law during the first 12 months while I am owner.

In the event of trouble, the first person the police will come looking for is me.

Naughty pics threat

I just love writing in the dark.

That's how it feels when no one leaves comments.

Please liven this place up a bit, and start responding to posts.

Otherwise, naughty posts is all you will get :)

Independent streak

Young Mr Ball is chafing for his independence.

Mum holds his ATM card and the passbook for his bank account.

He has yet to get paid in his new job delivering mail at a city bank. On the day his pay comes out, his mother might agree to relinquish the ATM card long enough for him to make a withdrawal.

However, she will expect a decent share of his earnings, to help her meet expenses for the next month.

Mum gives Ball B60 every work day for his food and travel expenses. She wants Ball to help her meet that cost.

The B60 she gives him for his work expenses each day is enough, but Ball is worried that after he divides up his wages to pay his mother, he will be left with little, if anything, to call his own.

‘I am in a job, and have a girlfriend. I am grown-up, but Mum persists in seeing me as a child. I would like to start saving money, so we can one day rent a place of our own – a room in a dormitory, perhaps, closer to my work,’ he said.

I offered to talk to Mum on Ball’s behalf, but he has asked me to say nothing.

We will wait to see what happens on pay day. If he is willing to work, Mum should be willing to trust her son enough to return his ATM card – even if he does end up spending the money on the wrong things, at least at first.

‘A mother can’t protect her son forever,’ he said.

Smell of an oily rag

Maiyuu bought a small garland of flowers for his mother the other day, to mark Thai Mother’s Day.

He draped the garland over an old black and white picture of his Mum, who died when he was in his mid-teens.

He erected her picture on top of the TV, where he could see her during the day. Normally, she sits in a frame we have hanging on the wall.

At first I didn't notice her, sitting in her new pride of place.

'What are you doing for your Mum today?' I asked.

'She's on the TV,' Maiyuu replied matter-of-factly.

I looked. The TV was airing some American comedy rubbish. I couldn't see his Mum anywhere, and what would she be doing on that show anyway?

'Where?'

'On the TV!'

I felt one of those strange Thai moments creeping upon me. A Thai has just explained something to me in the simplest of terms, but I still don't get it.

'There!' he exclaimed, pointing.

Ah. found her.

I didn’t see the garland laying ceremony. Maiyuu being Maiyuu, I doubt it was anything elaborate, as he dislikes pretence.

He would have bought it, draped it over the picture, and that’s that.

-
Five minutes' walk away, at Ball’s place, Mother’s Day was going far from well, at least for Ball's Mum.

A couple of months ago, Ball's mother entered a petrol venture with Kung, a wormy neighbour from the slums.

Kung, a small, wiry man with greasy hair and large tattoos, drives about town, buying cheap petrol from dubious sources, for sale elsewhere. He employs Ball’s younger brother, Beer (Mr B), to help him lift it into the back of a pick-up truck.

On the night before Mother’s Day, they were stopped by police.

At the time, Mr B was doing what he does best – sleeping, in the cabin of the truck. Mum owns the vehicle, which she bought at oily Kung’s urging.

When I dropped in to Ball's place on Mother's Day morning, I found Mum rifling through documents, looking for her house registration and home ownership papers.

Police from the local station, where Mr B and Kung spent the night in the cells, had asked for them.

She was to spend the rest of the day talking to police, and the next day as well.

Mr B was finally bailed late yesterday. Police have laid theft charges against him and Kung, which they will have to fight in court.

The truck, which stank of petrol fumes, has been impounded.

Making a difference

At Ball’s place, a small family gathering had been underway for several hours.

Well, ‘family’ in the loose sense of the word.

Mum was out. In the sitting room I found Ball, and his girlfriend huddled in a corner next to him. Elder brother Boy the soldier was there, as was elder sister Kae’s partner, and a cousin.

Toddler Fresh was still up, playing.

Earlier, when I called from work, Ball invited me around.

The adults were sitting among half-eaten bowls of food, some of which had spilled on the floor.

A bottle of whisky, nearly empty, sat there too.

The boys decided to have a lad’s night at home, to celebrate the start of a long weekend. Today is Mother’s Day in Thailand, coinciding with the Queen’s birthday.

Mum is thinking of taking the family to see her own mother in Onnut, for a one-day visit.

However, I doubt Ball will be in much shape for going anywhere, as he did himself no favours last night.

He gave me a cheery welcome when I arrived, but I could tell he was well past his best.

My young friend’s eyes were hooded, and his head hung down on his chest. He looked shocking.

His girlfriend Jay, the only one without a glass, was fed up, and wanted him to stop.

Ball, nursing his drink, spoke to her brusquely. She went to bed in a huff.

The other young men in the gathering appeared sober, but oblivious to the state in which Ball had drunk himself.

The cousin, whose name I can’t remember, shook my hand, and played the convivial host.

‘You don’t mind our little gathering, do you?’ he said pleasantly, asking if I was offended at the sight of the mess on Mum’s living room floor.

‘No, of course not,’ I replied.

'Ball, you can finish that. We’ll buy some beer,’ he said.

He emptied the rest of the bottle into Ball’s glass: way too much under ordinary circumstances, and certainly too much given the state he was in.

Ball turned to me, still upset about the way his girlfriend spoke to him.

‘I now have a job...no one can stop me if I want to relax at home. I am not getting into trouble outdoors. No one has the right...I hate it when people annoy me,’ he slurred.

Half an hour later, Ball realised he had taken enough He shook my hand, and staggered upstairs.

The young men in the group watched him leave, but said little. Seconds later, the conversation resumed where it had left off.

I excused myself.

I can't understand how they can be so complacent.

Yes, he demands his freedom. But how they can stand by as Ball, a member of the family, inflicts damage on himself is beyond me. Have these people forgotten how to communicate?