Keeping A Cool Heart # 2

A thundercloud grows above Thailand like unchecked anger

[In part one about keeping your cool while in Thailand we covered the concept of "face" and the possible consequences of losing one's temper. If you missed that you might want to read it first; today's post may make more sense if you do.]

With notepad in hand I set out again one evening to talk with more club workers; part of an on-going gathering of facts and stories for a work in progress. I'd had more of a dinner than normal and was feeling overly-full and uncomfortable, but being on task I made my way to the club area of Pattaya. The clubs open at different times, but many are open by 20:00 / 8:00pm and as it was then 20:15 I knew some of the workers would be trickling in. Places are often quieter customer- and music-wise earlier, too, and that makes it easier to try to hold a conversation - my reason for being there.

I hadn't been into the A-Bomb club for a while, and since some workers tend to change clubs like you and I would change shaving cartridges I figured there may be some new people on stage doing the one-knee shuffle, that poor excuse for dancing most guys adopt into their routine.

Approaching the door I was - naturally - approached by the club's touts, opening the door and inviting me inside. Prominently displayed to the right side of the door was a sign with the international "No Smoking" symbol. I don't smoke - haven't for a long, long time - and since I'm always hoping I might be sitting inside for an hour or more interviewing I tend to shy away from anyplace where my eyes will be stinging within the first 15 minutes from tobacco smoke. Smoking in all clubs is now against the law, but it's something many club owners play fast and loose with, for a variety of reasons. Point in fact, prostitution's illegal, too - but the right money on the right palms can do wonders in this land of mai pen rai.

"No smoking inside?" I asked the door guys, pointing to the sign. "Really?" "No smoking! No smoking!" they both chirped in unison, and as I already had a hand on my back pushing me gently inside I figured I'd give it a try. I followed the mamasan, who led me to a table and took my order for a bottle of water. As he walked away, two other farang customers were seated by one of the doormen to my left, both of whom immediately took out their cigarettes and lit up.

"Excuse me," I said to them pleasantly "There's no smoking in here." One of them ignored me, the other scowled and made a "Psshhh" sound, as if to say "Piss on you, mate!" I weighed my options for a couple of minutes but just as I was quietly gathering up my things to leave, the mamasan came back, twisting the top off of my bottle of water before setting it down next to a glass of ice in front of me. I called him back and said "I'm not going to stay if you're going to let these guys smoke in here," and motioned in their direction. Now they were both scowling at me, and I got up to leave. "Wait! Check bin!" said the mamasan. "For what?" I said, surprised. "For water you ordered," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Well," I began, still cool but irritated "First of all, I never even touched the bottle - and second, I was told there was no smoking in here, ching ching (for sure)." I headed quietly for the door while the mamasan ran off towards the back of the club and then hurried back after me, followed by who I assumed was the guy in charge that evening. "Hey!" he called out to me, as I stepped through the doorway back outside and down onto the side of the soi. I didn't run off, but stood there to explain to him my reason for leaving.

"You must pay for water," he said. "I didn't touch the water," I said "And you put two smokers not three feet away from me in your non-smoking club." Now I was getting more than irritated, and after another "Must pay!" I leaned in towards him and repeated slowly but emphatically "I didn't touch the water. Your door guys assured me this is a non-smoking club, and then one of them sat two smokers right next to me." "Have to pay," he insisted. That's where I started to get a little steamed. I asked him to come up onto the sidewalk with me and tapped forcefully on the "NO SMOKING" sign.

"What does this say?" I asked him, a little louder than I intended to, but so it goes. "Must pay!" he replied, ignoring my question. "Fine," I said. "Call the tourist police and we'll discuss it." "What?" He was also getting a little upset. "Call the tourist police, and let's see if they want me to pay for the water I didn't touch." By now my heart was pounding and I was upset - and probably red in the face, to boot. The manager paused for a moment to think, tucked my tab into his pocket and then said "OK, go," and I stepped back down into the street and walked away.

I could see he knew I was right, but it certainly didn't feel right. In fact, there was no satisfaction to the win whatsoever. I went a few more steps, stopped to cool off a bit and then turned to go back to the club, taking a little more out of my pocket funds than would cover the tab, folding it up and palming it in my hand. The doorman who'd seated the smokers wasn't smiling this time, but he opened the door for me, and I - knowing I may well be putting my safety at risk by doing so - went inside, looking for the manager.

He was at the back of the club again, but moved quickly toward me, as if he expected trouble. I held up my hand as if to say "wait, hold on a minute" and he slowed down, still looking stern but also a bit puzzled. He stopped right in front of me and I held out the folded bills, handing them to him, saying "Khor toat (I'm sorry) - I was rude to you, and I did not wish to cheat you. I was upset because of the smoking and I just wanted to leave."

The manager glanced over at the two men who were still puffing away, but now hooting at what they imagined was going to be an addition to the evening's show: me being dragged off to a back room somewhere. I could see him frowning at them, but when he turned back to face me, the frown was gone. He pulled my tab from his shirt pocket and handed it and my cash to one of the waiters who had come over to us, probably as back-up.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you." "No, it was my fault. I'm sorry," I said. "I'll see you another time." "Good!" he said "Come back another night." He'd saved face and I'd made my amends, so I turned and left.

I left the club and walked down the street to a different place, and this time it did feel right.