Skytrains, taxis and naked at the office

[Guest]

I?m starting off with an extract from an email I received from a gentleman by the name of James Jones. I?ve never ever met the guy but I?m sure we?d get on like house on fire.

 

 

 

?It?s been a while since I visited your site and as usual I found it a treasure trove of sharp observations and wit. My only complaint is that every time I get an idea to share my experiences about Thailand, I find you?ve beaten me to it. I was going to write about the solo dining experience, but damn, you got there first ? you even used my Pizza Hut vehicle. Similarly, the sudden popularity of the Sky-train, I can only assume that the BTS authorities must have headhunted the guru from the Indian state railway. It?s only a matter of time before people start getting on the roof with bundles of clothing. The overcrowding on the Sky-train isn?t helped by the proliferation of pole loungers. How self-absorbed do you have to be to slouch all over a pole whilst 30 thirty people around you are giving a passable impression of my granny first time up on a surfboard at Tavarua Island? These people are invariably male and so fat that they absorb the pole giving the impression that they?ve been impaled ? if only.

 

 

 

My other two Skytrain gripes are children and the sex fiend neurotics. When I was a lad I would have got my arse smacked for sitting down in public whilst an adult was standing. I know it?s a culture issue, but it makes me boil to see some spoilt, obese, eight-year-old brat jumping all over the seats while his mum stands up with half a dozen carrier bags full of shopping. Of course, when he gets older he?ll just go and smother a pole like his dad.

 

 

 

As for the neurotics, these are the women who sit next to you with evident and exaggerated distaste. They maneuver themselves such that they are as far away from you as possible without sitting on someone else?s lap. I once saw one woman contort herself such that she actually showed me her full back ? and I don?t mean Garry Neville. The little you can see of their faces reveals an expression of pure revulsion. Who do these people think they are? Nine times out of ten I?m in a suit, sitting modestly reading a book. Next time it happens, I?m going to suddenly leap up from my seat and in a tone of righteous indignation ask the woman to please keep her hands to herself before stalking off down the carriage, wondering aloud why they let prostitutes work the Skytrain.

 

 

 

Walking through Siam Square recently I was reminded of an usual dining experience that I had last year. I had gone to Siam Square with a Thai friend to watch a movie and, having some time to kill, I suggested getting a bite to eat. Having never been to the Hard Rock Cafe I suggested we go there for a burger and a beer. Unfortunately, I soon discovered that for the price of a meal for two I could have flown back to England and got my mum to knock a bacon sarnie up. Choosing to sacrifice my pride rather than next month?s rent we left and popped into a reasonable (cheap) looking Thai restaurant nearby. I had just settled into a 30 baht plate of noodles when the largest rat I?ve ever seen sauntered out from the kitchen. It was the size of a six-month-old Labrador puppy and moved with a stately air. It could not have looked more relaxed and indifferent to its surroundings had it been twirling a walking cane and pausing occasionally to consult a pocket watch. My Thai friend pointed to the rat and asked me what this was called in England, but my reply of ?a flagrant breach of hygiene regulations? was lost on her lower elementary English skills. Meanwhile the rat, which had continued to promenade with the same insouciance, suddenly emboldened, hopped up onto the wide ledge that ran around the walls. It soon came up alongside a party of four diners who, upon finding a retriever sized rodent in their midst, scattered like children at Gary Glitter?s birthday party. Their screams of terror brought the staff onto the scene. I would love to be able to say that the staff arrived in a tiny car that collapsed in a puff of smoke and that they were all wearing tight fighting police uniforms of old. Alas, how ever much this would have suited what was to follow, I would be lying. There began a chase of truly comic proportions. A chase that deserved a frantic piano accompaniment, interspersed with cymbal crashes and the tooting of a horn. You may think that a solitary rat being hunted a posse of Thais an unequal contest, but there were three members of staff and the rat was cornered. Eventually, one of the waiters caught the rat a lucky blow with the cutlery basket and the game was up. Momentarily stunned, the rat was pinned under the basket and smothered to death. Evidently elated, the victorious waiter picked up the rat and, turning to the gaping diners, held it aloft like Tony Adams with the FA Cup. I hardly need add that the cutlery basket was put back without so much as a rinse and the valiant rat slayer went straight back to serving the food. Food that had suddenly lost its appeal?

 

 

 

Thanks a lot for that James. I too think that they?ve headhunted the bloke from the Indian state railway, however, only when people are sleeping and shitting on the platform can he truly say that his task has been accomplished.

 

 

 

For me, even worse than the spoilt brat who occupies a seat while his poor old mother stands, is the spoilt brat who is given a seat and then refuses to use it. The seat remains vacant while the little c*** dances, jigs, and arses around saying ?look at me, I?m a walking advertisement for birth control? Meanwhile, not one single person, even the bloke with advanced polio and the orthopedic shoe, would dare utter the words ?excuse me, is the child going to use this seat or not??

 

 

 

Taking the sky-train to work today, a thought suddenly came to me regarding the train-driver?s announcements as you are approaching Siam Central station. He launches into this lengthy explanation in Thai of how one must get off at Siam station if one needs to connect to the Silom line, and yet when he repeats the message in English, he simply says ?next station, Siam?..interchange station? and that?s it! Maybe the fact that you need to change stations if you are heading down to Silom is meant to be kept a secret from foreigners. He does however throw in the word ?interchange? just to cause as much panic as is humanly possible. I?ve lost count of the number of times I?ve seen Trevor and Beryls from Sidcup suddenly start wrestling frantically with Sky-train maps fearing they?ll end up in downtown Hanoi if they don?t get off at the dreaded interchange station.

 

I notice that the BTS have started to advertise ?sky-train tours? ? see Bangkok from the sky-train. I?m busting a gut to find out what it actually involves apart from clambering up and down shitloads of stairs and having your plums crushed by the ticket barrier half a dozen times. But apparently, an English-speaking tour guide will take you from the windswept desolation of Prakanong station to the panhandlers paradise of Central Chidlom for a very low cost.

 

 

 

I was on the expressway the other day, and noticed an enormous billboard advertising, what I think was an engine oil, being proudly held by Thailand soccer superstar Zico. Now my question is this ? how many other Huddersfield Town reserves have ever been displayed so prominently?

 

 

 

Ambling down Petchburi Road last Sunday afternoon, I was intrigued to see that a plastic surgery had opened in what it is to be honest, an uninviting and run-down part of the city. Not that there?s anything wrong with that ? I suppose that people will travel anywhere for a decent nose job.

 

Back in Birmingham, England I would travel for miles to have my hair cut by Mr Leon, whose shop was slap bang in the middle of the notorious Balsall Heath red light district. And just as Mr Leon?s barbershop was like a shining beacon in a neighborhood of sin, so this Bangkok plastic surgery looked ever so slightly out of place amid the sleazy massage parlors and the shabby internet cafes, with its modern façade and quaint Betty Plant windows. But what really captured my attention was the signage, which like the shop-front, looked as though it had cost a small fortune. It simply said ?plastic surgerey?. That?s right, surgery with an extra e. Now is it just me, but wouldn?t you feel a mite apprehensive discussing what parts of your body were going to be cut off with a bloke that can?t even be bothered to look in a dictionary? Doesn?t say much for his attention to detail does it? Do his patients come round from the anesthetic, look in the mirror, and think ?well no one will ever notice if I wear a balaclava?

 

 

 

It?s not just Thai businesses that have the monopoly on spelling and grammatical balls-ups, it?s very much an Asian trait, but being involved in the English language profession always makes these ?errors? harder to accept. The classic for me was a few years ago when Tesco Lotus opened a new multi-million dollar superstore near Onnud skytrain station. The entrance was clearly marked as ?Entrance? ? so far so good, but the EIXT sign obviously required one or two minor adjustments. It was a simple case of rearranging four six-foot high letters into the correct order ? a sort of giant anagram as it were. It remained unaltered for two painful months. Long after the store had opened for business.

 

 

 

Only today while driving down Sukhumwit, I noticed an establishment advertising itself as a place for ?fine wines and premiem cigars? It kind of takes the edge off things doesn?t it. You?d expect to enter such a place and be fussed over by a knowledgeable man in a velvet dicky bow. Would you part with serious cash for the contents of his humidor when he can?t even spell premium correctly?

 

I know several farangs who have had the idea of starting a proof reading business. The idea is that the grammatically challenged Thai company sends them business letters, brochures, annual reports, all manner of business documents, in order to have them proofread. For this service, the foreign ?expert? would charge the Thai company a set rate per A4 page. I?m yet to see one farang make a success of it. The reason they fail is that to a person in Thai management, it?s an enormous loss of face to have your frankly dodgy English come under scrutiny. Many of them have studied for master degrees abroad and take pride in the fact that their spoken and written English falls comfortably in the ?advanced? category ? or so they think. The last thing they want is a business document or brochure coming back to them a mass of crossings out and red squiggles. So the world is left to giggle at statements like ?Bangkok nightlife is right on your doormat?, and ?when it comes to entertainment, we?ve got our finger on your knob? and let?s not forget ?it is our service to pleasure you?. Complete with spelling mistakes of course.

 

 

 

I don?t want to come across as a miserable killjoy but it?s not asking too much for a seafood restaurant owner to consult an English speaker before imploring us to come in and see his live crabs for ourselves! Or the carpet dealer promising us the finest shag in Bangkok! (Mr Carpet, Rama 9)

 

 

 

Here?s a story you?ll love.

 

I bumped into an old friend today, who I?ll call Murray in order to protect his identity. I first met Murray a few years back when he stopped me near Central Chidlom station to ask me the way to Pacific Place, a very tall office building on Sukhumwit Rd. As I was gesticulating and giving him detailed directions, he held up an inquisitive finger, ?you?re from the Midlands?

 

?Yes that?s right. Coventry originally?

 

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we chatted about how long I?d been here, Bangkok nightlife, Thai food, and just about every topic of conversation that two ex-pat strangers can cover whilst stood in the middle of Ploenchit Road on a blazing hot afternoon. Eventually we exchanged business cards, shook hands and Murray said he would be in touch. In fact, he did get in touch??two days later??.to sell me a pension plan.

 

OK, time has been the great healer and I?ve forgiven him for using the ?directions ploy? to try and sell me something I don?t want, and yes, we?ve still become firm friends. He told me this wonderful story about his office in Bangkok.

 

 

 

He?d decided to go into the office on a Saturday and catch up on a few phone calls and a bit of paperwork. He was joined for a short while by the young Thai secretary. Unfortunately he works in one of those buildings where the air-conditioning is controlled by a central unit and Saturday being a holiday, the air-con was turned off. The office was to say the least ? stifling hot.

 

After about two hours, the Thai girl had had enough and went off to pursue her weekend activities. No sooner had she left than our Murray, sweating his conkers off, decides to strip down to his undies. Normally, as Murray described it, he wears a sensible pair of Marks and Spencer?s boxer shorts, but being the weekend and in a more relaxed frame of mind, he was donning a pair of satin briefs that his wife had brought home from an Anne Summers party. You know the sort ? ?the satin posing pouch for the man who doesn?t have to try too hard?.

 

So there?s our man standing up in the middle of the office, coffee cup in one hand, address book in the other, and cobblers hanging out downstairs, and enter the Thai boss, who has made a diversion on the way to his condo in Hua Hin to pick up an important file.

 

He takes one look at Murray and is, as any of us would be, quite frankly lost for words. The boss desperately searches for something to say.

 

?Er?erm?.I think that Khun Nui was coming in to help out?

 

And as cool as a cucumber (I swear you couldn?t write the script). Murray replies ?Yes, she?s just this minute left?

 

 

 

And to finish off ? my own personal little anecdote called ?a funny thing happened on the way back from National Panasonic?

 

National Panasonic are one of my clients that I deal with by telephone, but even though I value their business, I dreaded going out to see them personally for the first time simply because of their location on Bang Na Km 17, which is to say the least ? in the middle of bloody nowhere.

 

After a couple of hours of coffee-drinking and bullshit, I asked the manager how it was possible to get back to civilization ? or even if it was just possible.

 

?No problem? she said ?We?ll call you a taxi to meet you at the front door?

 

Aaaah that would be nice. I could do some paperwork while I relaxed in the back of one of those radio-controlled jobs that still has a ?car showroom smell?

 

Don?t you believe it. What they meant by ?calling a taxi? was getting the insecurity guard to stand at the side of the Bang Na Trad highway and flag down the first thing that came. In this case ? Bangkok?s oldest taxi.

 

I was greeted at the front door by a man who had been an issarn farmer all his life - until deciding to make a career change that very day. And he was standing next to a vehicle that had no wing mirrors, two wheels hanging off and judging by the upholstery, had just been vacated by Razorman. But I just needed to get home.

 

 

 

I guess it was about kilometer 13 when steam first started appearing from under the hood, and despite Farmer Giles? efforts to make the temperature gauge go down by tapping furiously on the glass, we were obviously in serious trouble. He mumbled something totally incomprehensible and pulled on to the hard shoulder.

 

I got out of the car to offer moral support ? no more than that.

 

Your man goes around to the boot (trunk) and starts unloading every conceivable container, all filled to the brim with water ? there are small plastic bottles, big plastic bottles, water jugs, petrol cans, you name it, he had it. And so it came to pass that on a scorching Bangkok afternoon, there?s a farang in a shirt and tie, standing on the hard shoulder of the Bang Na Trad highway while traffic hurtles past at 150 kms an hour ? watching this turnip-grower attempting to cool down his radiator. And the meter was still going round may I add.

 

With a combination of one more pit-stop on the highway, turning off the ignition at traffic lights, and no uncertain amount of praying to our respective gods, we made it back home, where he was able to make use of my garden hose and give the engine a good dousing.

 

I genuinely felt sorry for the poor guy and gave him the full fare plus a handsome tip and a beer from my fridge. He had found a true friend. He shook my hand gratefully and wished me good luck. ?Where are you taking the taxi back to? I enquired.

 

?Nonthaburi? he replied, as though the 30 kilometer journey was going to be a walk in the park. And off he drove.

 

 

[Guest]

Post deleted by DoxyBlue

[Tiger Moth]

Phil,

 

 

 

Its a delight to read your posts.

 

 

 

Below is a brief, humorous experience of a different type that I hope you will enjoy:

 

 

 

Fortunately for me, quite a few years ago, I met a British fellow who was kind enough to teach me to play squash. We would play once or twice a week and would usually go out for pizza and beer afterwards at a small pub called Andy's. So, one night we were at Andy's and a very attractive, young waitress came over to get our order. My friend, Frank, a Professor at a well known University, asked the waitress the size of a medium pizza. The waitress answered, "12 inches" (about a third of a meter, I think). Frank's reply was "huumm, 12 inches, nuff to make your eyes water, isn't it".

 

 

 

While I tried to keep from laughing, the waitress had a puzzled look on her innocent face.

 

 

 

When I encounter excellent British humor, I usually think of Frank.

 

 

 

Pat

 

 

 

 

[gummigut]

Always a pleasure to read your writings!!! Thanks for posting!!!

 

 

 

Gah, misspellings.

 

 

 

I was in Major Bowl waiting for DB. A seriously FINE woman was working with this guy about the new display. Dressed great. Obviously someone who works in management. Anyways, she goes off and the guys alone. This guy is dressed very well and is a manager or management as well given his smart snappy suit. Well, I continue watching as he puts the letters on the display. "M A J R O B O W L." My jaw is dropping. I can't help but stare. This guy must have noticed me staring. I mean, it's only the name that's on his check, letterhead, and um, ALL OVER DA PLACE!!!!! Just unbelievable!

 

 

 

<<burp>>

[Guest]

"On the bright side please consider the computer shop in Soi 71 who proudly give us their hours:

 

 

 

Run: 0900 - 1700

 

Safe Mode: 1200 - 1300

 

Shut Down: Sunday"

 

 

 

DB

 

I know exactly the place you mean. The sign never fails to bring a smile to my face. Inspired.