In the Rathole

I've got seven friends, good friends, and they're all in the Rathole. No, make that eight, yeah, that's for sure, eight. If I fudged a little I could almost tell you that all nine of my friends on my friend list are there. Well, the last one he's not quite there yet but you can see it coming, his condition getting worse, and you know that like the others he won't be able to turn it around.

You know what I mean by the Rathole, don't you? Sure you do, everyone does, they just have their own names for it.

It's the bottle, it's the fat, it's the wife you hate, it's the ex-wife you hate because she took all your money, it's the kids who can't even remember your telephone number. It's the job you only endure, and hate. The neighbors you'd like to shoot. The bad dreams that keep repeating and keep you awake at night.

I'm not going to try to tell you exactly when it happens, when you get one foot in the Rathole, and then it's two feet in and you're sliding down and there's nothing to grab onto and then you look up one day and you know there's no getting up and out. Nope, none at all. You've only got the End to look forward to, and days come when you wish it was now. Tomorrow at the latest.

Yeah, my friends. Jesus, I can't believe that they're even hanging on, it's that bad. I get these e-mails, they send me pictures, they tell me they've found salvation in porno and they want to marry one of the porno queens they saw the other day that made them happy, and they don't even know her name and even if she's still alive.

I know, you're asking if I'm writing this because I too am in the Rathole. I let myself go, I'm as fat as a pig ready for slaughter, I have a pint of gin before breakfast and another one before I go to bed and that's not counting the bottle or two of wine I have most nights. But this isn't me, I just made this up, took pieces of Number 3's story and Number 7's story, and I might've also thrown in the good stuff from Numbers 1, 2 and 5 and made it even sound better. Christ, you would not believe what I'm hearing, what I'm seeing, and what I'm imagining about my friends.

I tell them: Whoa! I tell them: Put the make on the checker-outer at the grocery store or the little lovely at the pharmacy and bang her real good and don't ask if you can come back to feel good again, just tell her you're coming back to get more of the same. I tell them: Sell that nice car you own and take the money and hire yourself a nurse and have her live in and buy her handcuffs so she can restrain you when you get that urge to go to the frig or grab the spare gin bottle behind the china. Put it in writing for her. Let her break you, abuse you, turn you around. And bang her good too while she's doing it.

Honest, this is exactly what I tell them. For their own good. Because I'm feeling sorry for them. Because I've always been like a tent-revival preacher, eager to save a soul, return a person to a good life. Like I've got. I sure do, and I don't mind telling anyone who asks. Even if I never get around to telling them why I'm not in the Rathole, living here in Pattaya by the Bay.

Yeah. I was once almost there. I know I had one foot in, and the other one was on the edge and I peered over and saw what was there and how deep the hole was and no way to get out, and I went to bed telling myself stories about all my friends already in the Rathole. That I was next if I didn't do something drastic. Very drastic.

So I did something. Did it three years, four months and nine days ago. I sure did. Moved here like everyone else, just to stay out of the Rathole. Two blocks from Soi Six. Every day now I go over there at a little after noon and I sit with the girls and I tell them funny stories and make them laugh and hold their hands; and I wait for one of the Rathole candidates to come along. They come, every day, every evening, every night. They sure do! No problem getting them to sit with me. I just start talking nice and sweet and one by one take them through my Rathole friends' histories. Truthful, honest, every word the truth as I know it. Would never tell a lie when I'm telling them about my friends back home in their Ratholes. I say, You listen to me, you're going to be okay. Just listen careful like. I buy them a drink, then maybe a second and a third one.

They tell me, I'm not in the Rathole, that's why I'm here. That's what they all tell me, I swear they do. I say okay, I understand where you're coming from. I've been there too. But I say: You come inside, inside this bar, this special bar, and after you get a real good session with one of these girls you're going to feel different. Like you've never felt before, I tell them.

They don't believe me. They say: I've been in here. Many times. They're all the same. Good girls and I get what I want and then I go and forget them. Maybe I come back, maybe I don't.

But you're still in the Rathole I say. You just don't know it. Look how much you're drinking. Look how much you're whoring. Look how much you're still paying the old lady that moved out and took everything. Look how fast your bank account and retirement monies are disappearing. Yeah, take a good hard look.

So what's different the girls here are offering? they say. They don't say it right away, but they say it. They always say it. I give them enough booze for free to lubricate them good, I sure do.

You have to come inside and see, I tell them. That's the only way. You come in and go upstairs and see for yourself and give it a try and everything will be different. I promise. And that's when I buy them the drink that matters. They don't know it, because by now they trust me. Maybe not all the way or even three-quarter the way to full trust, but they don't think twice about what I have my girl bring them. They sure don't. They're hanging on my next words, and I'm just counting the money.

After that, we got them! The numbers and maybe a name and some letters, that's it. Then they're out for like twenty-four hours. Maybe double that, maybe triple that before they come to, if we don't lose them. We lose one now and then, but figure no big deal. Doesn't matter, does it? They were in the Rathole anyway, so who cares.

So now, to backtrack a wee bit, we've got them upstairs and they're smiling and already they don't have any idea where they are or what's coming next. Five, maybe ten minutes of a little play time and then they're out. Maybe little longer if we got one of the big fat ones.

We're not greedy. We don't take their shoes or their socks or their rings or watches. We don't even take the card; we just borrow it, that's all. And then when we got them maxed out for one or two days on their accounts, we take them down to Walking Street, three or four in the morning, and we just dump them wherever no one's looking. Maybe one of the alleys that had all the food vendors who went home. When they wake up, all they think is: Had me too much, got to watch myself next time, I sure do.

Magic, I tell you. Real magic this Rathole game. And think-just imagine-all the good I'm doing! Sending these Prime Rathole Candidates a good true and honest signal before they need a nurse with cuffs who might not even bang them. My father-God save his rotten soul-would be proud.

So that's all I'm going to say right now about the Rathole and this M.O. I shouldn't be revealing for obvious reasons. Except for one little thing, part of which you already know. I decided the best way to avoid finding myself there in the Rathole was to use my talking and preaching and convincing skills. And that's exactly what I've been doing for more than two years, even since my own bank accounts went dry and I found myself where I didn't want to be and had to do something to get out of the Rathole. Now, I don't mind telling you one more little thing in this little confessional piece. I've been living quite nicely here, two blocks from Soi Six. I admit I'm a little fat now, a little too full of booze most days, and there are even some days I'm a little too fatigued and feeling too shitty to get one of my talented conspiring girls to do me for free as they always promise they will because of all the business I bring their way.

The author can be contacted at:  korski1@cox.net