One Drink and Two Ugly Americans

In the distance I could see a small crowd, and the crowd was growing, and as I got closer I saw a stumpy Thai policeman with a holstered gun who was holding the wrist of a young and equally stumpy Caucasian male. The Caucasian farang was wearing sloppy blue jeans, a faded gym shirt and a pork pie hat that was too small for his fat head. He had a pageboy haircut and two small rings in his right ear. Another Caucasian, also obviously young, and with a good head of dark curly hair and wearing shorts and running shoes and a small daypack that looked empty, was face-on-face with the policeman. He was shouting in his face. As I got closer, the policeman extended an arm and pushed Curly Hair away. Curly Hair said a few more words I could not hear and then came closer to the cop. It all looked very ugly and about to flare into something even uglier.

Initially, I kept my distance. I was the only other farang around and my gut told me that this might be a drug bust, and if so this was very bad news for one or both of these farang males. And it would be for me if I got sucked into this mess. Geography, being too close to something bad going down, can sometimes get you in a hell of a lot of trouble.

But my curiosity got the best of me, and as I circled around the small crowd I began to sense that this was not about drugs at all. The cop had not put cuffs on Porkpie, and I saw no indication that the cop had a phone and might've called for help. And yet Curly Hair kept pressing his case, getting in the cop's face, then being pushed away, his voice going up and down. I thought I heard him speak in Thai. I could barely believe my eyes. Was this guy sane behaving like this?

I went up to Porkpie who was still being held by the cop and asked what this scene was all about. He said, They're trying to rip us off. Get us to pay for a drink we didn't order. We're not going to pay.

How much are we talking about? I said, as my eyes moved to my right and peered at a white piece of paper in the hands of a neatly dressed Thai woman who could not have weighed more than ninety pounds. She was not smiling. I moved toward her and put out my hand and she showed me the bill. It was for 125 baht.

I turned back to Porkpie and said, Where are you from?

Manhattan.

How old are you?

Twenty-two.

I said, Are you absolutely mad? We're talking about a couple of dollars, a cheap man's tip, and you're willing to get your ass fried for this?

It's about principle. They're trying to rip us off. My friend has been here since January and he speaks Thai. He's going to get it straightened out.

I went over to Curly Hair and noticed that he had a pale long face that looked sallow and stern. He had a big nose. He had a bearing of confidence.

I put my arm around his shoulder and I said, Where are you from?

Manhattan.

How old are you?

Twenty-two.

Do you know fuck all about the Thais?

I speak their language. I know all kinds of things about them.

Do you know they don't like confrontation? And if you make them look bad, like you're doing to that cop, you're asking for real trouble.

He looked at me like I was talking to him in some undiscovered Bantu language.

I put my mouth on his ear and I said, Look, don't be really stupid. Pay that fucking meaningless bill. Pay it even if they ripped you off and it's ten dollars. Believe me, this is not the U.S. And believe me--I was now lecturing him, shouting into his ear--you do not want to find yourself in a Thai jail for really pissing off this cop. You'll be eating your own shit and drinking your own piss for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

We're U.S. citizens and we'll call the tourist police if this isn't settled right.

Listen to me dickhead. The U.S. Consulate will do absolutely nothing if you get in trouble. You'll rot in a Thai jail before they do anything to help you. Now pay that bill before you get way in over your head and regret what you've done for the rest of your life.

It's a matter of principle.

Fuck principle, this is Thailand, asshole. The Thai don't think like you or me.

I went over to the woman holding the bill on a white slip of paper, pulled out a wad of bills from my left front pocket, gave her 120 bahts, and as I did so Porkpie tried to take it out of her hands.

It's a matter of principle, he said, peering at me.

Leave that money in her hands or I'm going to smash you in the face. He was several inches shorter than me, thirty or so pounds heavier. He said not a word and dropped his hand to his side.

The woman to whom I had given the money raised two hands to her forehead, waid me, then turned and walked away. The cop let go of the kid's wrist. The crowd immediately began to disperse.

The two smart-assed principled Manhattanites came together and I went to them and I said, You two guys have to be the stupidest pricks I've met in one hell of a long time. Now get the fuck out of here before that cop decides to cook and eat both of you.

I was curious about how they'd gotten "ripped off," so I headed toward the bar where they'd allegedly been charged for one beer that they did not order. As I got near the door, three young barkers--Thai hookers dressed in colorful street clothes and high heels who were hustling business out front-smiled at me. One came to me and put a splayed hand on my chest and said, You farang with big strong good heart. She smiled again and put her arms around me and hugged me.

I went inside and took a seat in front of some twenty scantily clad go-go dancers who were wiggling on a high stage. They were wearing white satin G-strings and matching bras and black satiny boots that covered their calves. They looked deceptively tall. Half of the twenty-something "dancers" who were looking for bar fines and a long night with a generous farang could only be described as gorgeous.

Before I got fully oriented in the darkness and shifting lights of the G-Spot, a waitress approached me and shoved a drink menu in my face and pointed to the first item on the list, which was a beer for 125 baht. She didn't give me much of a chance to say yes or no. She left and shortly returned with a beer and put the bill for 125 baht in a small round bamboo-like container, the kind that are routinely used in Thailand and other Asian countries to collect alcohol and food charges in bars and restaurants.

I drank about half the beer, quickly became bored with the "wiggle show" and the bored look on the pretty faces and left. Outside I got another hug from the same girl for being farang with strong big good heart.

Thanks, I thought, but I'm not what you think.

As I headed down the street, I thought of how nice it would be if on the way home Curly Hair and Porkpie, the two principled Manhattanites who in ten minutes had done more damage than I could do good in two months in Thailand, would be taken into a dark alley by a gang of Thai thugs and have the shit kicked out of them. Then in the morning, scared out of their wits, they'd get the first available plane back to New York, swearing all the way home that they'd never again return to the Land of Smiles.

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

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