ThailandStories.com - Monday Morning Blues

Monday morning had got off to an unusually bad start. My car had been wheel-clamped, I had the princely sum of thirty eight baht in my pocket and my ATM card appeared to be missing. Amm was spitting feathers. She was convinced that I had arranged this chaos especially so as to avoid paying her for her overnight services. Have you noticed how bargirls can change from playful kitten to hissing viper in an instant if something goes awry on the finance front? I pacified her as best I could and she agreed to hold my Amex card hostage until the evening. In that time I hoped to find a way of getting my hands on some funds, get the car unclamped and return to Suzie Wong’s with sufficient folding to pay Amm for her services and thereby liberate my Amex card. She stomped off in a huff while I scratched my head and tried to get to grips with the problems at hand. I opened my wallet one more time to make finally and absolutely sure that my ATM card was not in it. Down in the darkest recesses, amongst some Singapore dollars and various forgotten scraps of paper by some miracle, was my ATM card. Aah, small mercies! I trooped off to the nearest ATM. Having restored my supply of drinking vouchers I hailed a cab and headed off to Thong Lor nick. That’s where you have to go to pay to get cars unclamped. The policewoman on duty took delight in relieving me of the five hundred baht fine. By the time I returned to Soi 23 the wheel clamp had been removed and I was a free agent once more. I jumped in and drove off to Soi 4. I pitched up at the Rajah Hotel carpark. I’ve never been clamped in there and you can stay as long as you like for free provided you get that little ticket stamped at The Hilary Bar or somewhere similar.

By eleven o’clock, I had had some breakfast and had settled on a stool at the Morning 2 Night bar. I just needed to take the edge off my thirst. And that was where I met Joy. At first, she offered to perform all kinds of lewd acts on me but once she realized that I knew more about lewd acts than she did, she eased up with the hard sell. After a coupe of reviving beers, Joy agreed to accompany me to Hilary II for a game of pool. I paid her barfine and off we went. At that point my intention had been to buy her a drink or two. Play a game of pool or two. Buy her a modest lunch and then practice some of my lewdest acts on her. As it happened, things took a different course. Joy met a girlfriend in Hilary II, which is hardly surprising as both bars have the same owner. I decided to let them gossip while I played a game of pool. I won and then I won the next one. Then I won the one after that and pretty soon there was a queue of pool sharks lining up to play me. I kept winning and if you don’t believe me you can ask Frank, who I played more than a couple of times and who took it all in good humour. I must have won ten or twelve games before I finally got fed up and retired undefeated.

By that time, I had shipped a few beers and time had moved on so I dropped Joy a decent tip and took a rain check on the afternoon’s sexual adventures. By then it was time to meet up with Dave and Phil over in Soi 7/1. I made haste. I filled them in with the details of my day so far and presently we headed off to The Dollhouse, then to Rawhide and by the time we got to Suzie Wong’s, the lesbian show was just about to start. Amm pounced on me from the shadows. I paid her the ransom on my Amex card and we were friends again. Dave and I made for the Voodoo Bar back in Nana Plaza. Phil needed to lie down. I woke up alone in my bolthole apartment on Soi 33 on Tuesday morning.

I seemed to have cured the Monday blues. Now I had to tackle Tuesday.

Union Hill

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Dana
April 30, 2007, 03:03

Attn: Henrik2000

"I wouldn’t call this a 'story'."

Well, ok--I'm not sure how much energy to put into this. Maybe technically it does not satisfy 100% of all 'story' attributes taught in academic creative writing classes. But then either did Ulysses by James Joyce which to today's modern computer person reads like a blog of a day in Dublin. Seven hundred and thirty two pages--one day. James would have loved Union Hill.

However, it is a 'retelling'. When is a 'retelling' a story? Not a story?

I am very open to different formats when communicating in text and I wish others were more open to considering how to use words and the page to present ideas. I routinely get pilloried for this by readers who can not accept anything other than linear text, and linear story lines, and margin to margin page layout.

I think this is a story, and I think Union Hill is a wonderful story teller, and in a bar he would be my first and last choice to listen to.

"What did you do last night Dana?"
"Oh, I ran into Union Hill in the Rajah car park and he told a great story about what he did yesterday."

henrik2000
April 30, 2007, 18:32

Chuck, i think you do this story a great honour.
Dana, i personally don’t like blogs, haven’t read Ulysses. I also don’t like diary-like travel-reports. I don’t like them just because they are so *linear*, going breathlessly straight to somewhere without looking back, without development; i’d like a story to be *linear* (without digression, side rants and such), but also to be *round* in a sense that in the end we should see why certain things in the beginning have been told. And here, even though he does meet Amm again, it seems unremarkable and does not lead to rounding-off the story.
VERY SURE: Union Hill is one of the nicest bar life chroniclers. This piece here is nice enough. This is why i commented. If i thought he or only this story were more dull than not, i’d never bother to comment.
Dana, I’m sure UH is an entertaining bar mate. So i’d also love to listen to his tales personally; rather not on the Rajah car park, but on a Morning2Night stool. Unfortunately we know from this story he has better things to do in Morning2Night. But does he have a podcast?

Dana
April 29, 2007, 12:13

A common theme for Mr. Hill and in my opinion the best of the lot. Moves very fast and makes no pretensions of philosophy or point-of-view. I can't do this living anymore and I have not adjusted to it. I am angry about what I lost. If God was listening I would say:

"Please give me back my youth. Make me like Mr. Hill."

henrik2000
April 30, 2007, 00:38

I wouldn’t call this a "story". It’s a diary entry (blog). I think Union is one of the nicest girlie bar chroniclers we have – well worded, caring for plot and entertainment, staying right on track instead of digressing into endless editorial side rants, and often with humor, heart and a nice punch line. Juicy, but not seedy, free of bad smelling attitudes. So he’s a good read even though i don’t usually like that milieu.
In this story here, like in „Sukhumvit Time Tunnel“ before, i didn’t see any development or such, it’s just a recount of of a string of activities, aiming at nothing (even though it starts and ends with the same bg). It’s where for me his charme fades.

chuckwoww
April 30, 2007, 06:05

I wouldn't say that henrik. A careful reading reveals the piece to be a major piece of literature. The wheel-clamp (mortal coil) was successfully removed, the drama with Amm (OK so it's not Romeo and Juliet), was resolved, and some lewd acts happened (comic relief)...all in one day. Think of it as a metaphor for life.

Cent
April 30, 2007, 20:00

Sometimes it is not about a story, it's about a moment in time that lets you get inside the feeling of the moment as you read it. Pleasant, amusing, interesting. It's a snapshot of life, a meandering stroll to nowhere, pleasant in its own right. Just a pleasing sample taste of something sweet, or something unpleasantly sour. I find them highly readable, and UH is always amusing and interesting in showing these snapshots of his experiences, and writes them very well. Take them as they are.

Monday Morning Blues

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