TRYING TO NOT PAY A HOOKER IN THAILAND

This sordid tale is a continuation of Patrick K’s adventures in Thailand, which were first chronicled in his post “How to Fail at Buying Drugs in Thailand”

… So, the next night we decided to lay low.

Mum told us the golden rule: stick together. Under no circumstances should my brother Danny and I leave each other.

We had a few warm-up drinks in a non-descript sports bar. Phuket was heaving. Danish gap year kids, English pedophiles and Korean honeymooners were mingling with Thai ladies and ladyboys. We briefly looked down the street of girly bars but decided we weren’t paying to play.

Danny assured me that European girls would be plentiful in Rock City, a huge rock club (duh). It was an impressive place. Five live bands: Bon Scott-era AC/DC, Brian Johnson-era AC/DC, Metallica, Guns n’ Roses and Kiss — well, reasonable tribute bands, not the actual acts themselves.

We settled down for some drinks and a refreshing cigarette or twenty. Two slutty-looking Australian girls took the table in front of us. You know the type: roomy hips, big tits, drinking with abandon.

There was only one problem: a somewhat monkeyish Thai girl was standing next to me — standing on top of me, really. There are millions of stunning Thai women — she wasn’t one of them. She forced her way onto our table along with two of her friends, one of which looked like a frog wearing a wig.

At first I resisted her leathery claws as they wound their way over me (obviously I didn’t actually resist; I’m not a gay), but this girl was a master tactician. She knew it was simply a matter of time before I’d consumed enough rum & Cokes to respond. Incrementally she began to look a lot more attractive. Also, her friend showed me the tub of Vaseline she kept in her handbag “for in the ass.”

Rock City closed. The tons-of-fun Australians had long since buggered off. Danny charged that I had “fucked shit up for real niggas” by soliciting attention from sub-par Thai ladies. I couldn’t argue. True, she hadn’t really given me a choice — I would have had to tell her to piss off and I’m simply not that kind of person. Much more polite to have sex with someone than to ask them to leave you alone, no?

Anyway, we stood on the street, unsure of what was going on.

“What are you doing now?” I asked my simian companion.

“We go you.”

“Ah. Danny, what…” He looked at me. I mean, he really looked at me. You know when someone looks deep inside you and sees exactly what kind of person you are? What kind of small, dirty, shabby little man you are? That’s how he looked at me. Then he smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was a smile that said, You’re a cunt, and you’ll pay for this later.

“Why don’t you two go back to the hotel, and I’ll have another drink somewhere?”

“Eh… is that… is that…?” I ventured lamely. Mum’s dire warning resounded thorough my mind: stick together. He dived into the sweating throngs of pleasure-seekers. My brother was gone.

The Thai lady and I got a taxi back to the hotel. I already knew I’d made a mistake. My new friend babbled quietly to herself in Thai.

When got out of the taxi, my new friend strode over to the hotel front desk. She brought her ID card out to be copied. The two night staff (thankfully both men) were the soul of discreet professionalism, but I could tell what they were thinking: another filthy foreigner.

We made our way to my room. The interlinking door with mum’s room was open. Shit fuck cunt. I motioned to my chimp-like chum for absolute silence and closed the door.

“Patrick?” My mum was awake, her voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Daniel?” She always calls him Daniel.

“He’s here.” For one heart-stopping moment I thought she would demand to see him. I could only dimly see her in the light from my room spilling into hers. She rose from the bed, seemingly ready to investigate. Then with an oddly petulant flick of her head she went back to sleep.

I closed the door and made sure it was locked from our side. I brought the good-time gibbon over to the bed and began my filthy labors.

Let me just say that licking a whore’s mottled flaps whilst my mother was sleeping about five yards away was not a personal highlight. I had — once again — hit a new low. I spent my disgusting emissions, morbidly curious to see how things would play out.

Eventually she pulled on a spare dress she had in her handbag and made to leave — wait, what? A spare dress in her handbag? Jesus.

As a true gentleman, I escorted her to the front desk. She collected her card and we stood awkwardly in the foyer.

“Well, er… bye.”

“Can I have money?”

“What? I don’t have any money.”

“Need money for taxi.”

“Yeah… I don’t have any. I spent everything.”

“We make boom so you give me money!”

“I didn’t realize… I thought we were, er, friends.”

“I need money for taxi!”

“You didn’t say. I didn’t realize I had to pay.”

“No pay for boom. But live Phuket city. This Patong beach. Taxi very money!”

I turned my pockets inside out to prove just how financially straitened I was.

“Why you no say you have no money?” She was shouting in a whisper, if that makes any sense.

We basically repeated the above conversation for about 30 minutes. Seriously, a repetition of the same argument. Finally we came to a kind of bitter armistice where she sat sulkily on the front steps of the hotel with her arms crossed. She clearly wasn’t going anywhere soon. It wouldn’t be long before vile German couples would be rising to begin power-hikes or whatever the fuck they do. In desperation I approached the security guard.

“I have no money-” I began.

He shot out of his chair. “She take money? Call police?”

I tried to explain: “I have no money. If you give me money now, I’ll give you money tomorrow.”

“Ah”, the guard said. He laughed heartily, but not unkindly. “I have no money!”

5:37. When it got to 5:45, I resolved, I would go and get some money from my mum, somehow. The doomsday scenario.

5:45. A moped zoomed up the hill. Two people were on it. They came down the slope. Was it Danny?

YES. He was clinging to the back of an older Thai guy. Danny climbed off the moped and thanked the driver profusely. He didn’t offer him any money.

“Have you got some money to pay this girl — I mean, pay for her taxi?”

“No”, Danny laughed. I could tell that he was dangerously drunk. “I got robbed by ladyboys!”

“Heh”, I forced out. “Good one.” I wasn’t really in the mood for jokey clichés. “Seriously, can you give her 500 baht?”

“No. I got robbed by ladyboys!” He laughed again.

“Wha… really?” I took a second. “So you’ve got no money?”

“Nothing.” He headed inside the hotel. I told the girl I’d be back in a few minutes.

At least now Danny was back and safe, if penniless. I took a deep breath and woke my mum (for the third time).

“Can I have some money?”

“What?” (There is a particular way of saying “what,” a kind of exasperated spit, that only angry Irishwomen can manage.)

“I’m really pissed and I need to go to the shop to, um, clear my head with a walk.”

“What?” (Again.)

I repeated myself.

“Fucking hell!” She switched the light on. She looked at me. She knew something was up. “What’s all this about?”

“I just… want to go to the shop.” She wasn’t convinced. Finally she dug some money out of the drawer by her side. I went back outside.

“Ta-dah! Look what I’ve got.” I crinkled the sweet 500 baht note. She didn’t look too pleased. That’s gratitude, eh? I walked her down the hill. Suddenly she brightened.

“Maybe I push you down the hill!” I looked to my left. A sheer drop into glistening jungle. No one would find my body for weeks if I plunged down there. I swiftly skirted around her onto the roadside.

We found a motorcycle taxi and she zoomed away, waving merrily.

-PATRICK K

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