My plan was simple. Take my enormous pile of dirty clothes to the laundry service in town, then turn around and come right back to the village – where it’s safe. There’s no need for money here. The village yai’s (elders) will feed me and check to make sure I have enough drinking water. If they find my jugs empty, they simply tell their grandson to get off his lazy ass and go buy me some. I’m well cared for and my wallet is good for nothing. But in town, danger lurks around every corner. Every little shop seems to have just the thing I need, and I walk around with the mentality that, ‘I might as well buy this while I’m here.’ My wallet seems to grow thinner by the minute. It’s like magic. The money disappears so quickly. So you can understand my determination to get in and out as fast as possible.
I sit on the large pile of laundry heaping from the plastic basket while waiting roadside for a sam-law (similar to a tuk-tuk) to drive by and – hopefully – pick me up. I have just enough shade to keep me from melting while plotting the rest of my day. What an exciting and productive day it will be! I’ll return (promptly) from running my quick errand to visit the temple. Then I’ll bike to a northern village before finishing out the day with a little paperwork in the office.
At this point, an army of ants catches my attention and they become far more interesting. I proceed to stare at the ground for a solid five minutes without a thought in my head. Suddenly, the most common expression from the Thai-Esaan language startles me from my daze.
“Bai sai?” (Where are you going?)
A familiar face smiles at me from his sam-law.
“Oh! Hello. I go to laundry service, near bank. Can you take me?” I say in the local dialect.
“Kap,” he says with a nod, and we’re off.
When I’m on my bike, I focus on the traffic, dogs, and road ahead. For this reason, each and every sam-law ride is to be taken advantage of. I seize these opportunities to enjoy the scenery. My head turns from one side to the other, from the front and to the back as I soak up the sites. People-watching, searching for new shops of particular interest, smiling at the tiny children that help their parents steer motorbikes – all this with the wind blowing through my hair… Sam-law rides are one of the many “little things” in life.
As we pass by one of the two furniture shops on the main road, I notice a new addition to the inventory. I feel my “inner goddess” (EL James reference) do cartwheels as I recognize the folding chair-bed. You see, just two weeks ago, a friend in the village allowed me to nap on her folding chair-bed, which provided me with a surprisingly comfortable sleep. I asked her where she bought it, explaining I wanted to buy one too, and she informed me that she got it in Bangkok. Of course this information was disappointing. Even if I found one to buy in Bangkok, how would I get it back home? It would be such a hassle to travel by bus with the chair in tow, but I knew I just had to have one. Sleeping on the floor was getting old – fast. And this mechanism seemed extremely affordable, especially considering the quality of sleep one could get out of it. As you can imagine, the chair-bed sighting in Det Udom thrilled me. Therefore, I would drop off my laundry and quickly walk by the shop to check on its price.
Minutes later, I find myself standing in front of the chair-bed. I marvel at the taught material stretched between the aluminum poles. I press the palm of my hand in the center to test the elasticity. As it immediately returns to its original state, I imagine myself laying there, the material perfectly molding the contours of my spine. I think about how wonderful it will feel to sleep with some elevation from the floor, away from all of the creepy-crawlies desperate to feed from my flesh or nest in my ears.
“Chom-POO!”
I turn to find the shop owner’s wife smiling at me, baby on hip. They were extremely helpful when I moved into the newest rent house. Were it not for their reasonable prices, I never would have been able to fill my house with all of those little necessities (i.e. wardrobe, cutting table for kitchen, and water basin for bathroom). I do a little happy dance in my head as I imagine the cheap rate she will be prepared to give me, as I am now a frequent customer. We enjoy a bit of small talk and I dazzle her baby with my charm before I ask the big question: “Tao-rai, na ka?” (How much?)
“Oh, I’m not sure,” she says, “Normal price is 950 baht. Just a minute. Husband is in shower. Sit down. Wait. I will tell him you are here.”
After five quick minutes of waiting, the young man appears from the back of his shop with beads of water still dripping from his jet black hair. He grins at me with his shiny braces, a fashionable accessory in Thailand.
“Chom-POO! How-ah-YOU?” he asks with his humble English skills.
I wai him politely, respond in the local dialect, and ask him the same – but before I can ask him about the folding chair-bed, he is already boxing up the chair and placing it in the bed of his truck. His jolly demeanor and his eagerness to help have my head spinning. I remember how he loaded up his truck last time and helped me get everything home after that first purchase. Is he taking me to my house? Based on his gesture, summoning me to the passenger seat, I conclude that he is.
‘Awesome,’ I think to myself while closing the truck door behind me, ‘Now I don’t have to pay for another sam-law ride.’
I wave at his wife and their adorable infant child as we pull away, and it dawns on me: ‘Did I just purchase this thing without confirming the price?’
I consider asking him, but should I decide NOT to purchase the chair, I might not be able to handle the awkwardness as we turn back and return to his shop. And I would hate to have him make a U-turn in this traffic… It can’t really be 950 baht, can it? I haven't even done a mental budget yet to see if I have any cash to spare. Serves me right for being so damn impulsive... I do a silent breakdown and conclude that I have roughly 1500 baht left to see me through the next nine to ten days. Surely his wife was wrong. 950 seems too high. I suspect it will be 750, and if not, I’ll haggle. Problem solved. Now I can enjoy conversation with my ol’ buddy the furniture man.
In the five minutes it takes to get from his shop to my house, we discover that we’re the same age. He learns that I have never seen a waterfall in Thailand. I learn that his child has a tummy ache. Then he gives me his cell phone number so that he can pick me up next time I want to shop for furniture. “No need for sam-law,” he says.
After arriving at my place, he removes the chair from its box while I unlock the door. I begin fishing for my wallet, anxiety kicking in. He places the chair just inside my door, careful not to enter my house with his shoes on. He can see I have my wallet in-hand. He nods politely at the observation, smiles, and says, “Nung paan baht, kap.”
“Nung paan, law?” (Really? 1,000 baht?)
“Kap.”
I’m too nervous to haggle with my new friend. Our conversation was so pleasant. I’d hate to spoil the friendly dynamic with demands for a cheaper agreement. I try to think about the silver lining as I fish out my last thousand-baht bill. I won’t gain any extra weight from going into the city and eating pizza – because I won’t be able to afford it. I won’t be self medicating with alcohol anytime this month – because I can’t afford it. And I certainly won’t be leaving site to meet up with other volunteers anytime soon – because my ass is BROKE.
We exchange smiles as I hand him the bill.
Needless to say, I am spending the rest of the day cooped up inside my house, feeling immediate regret and mild depression regarding this recent purchase. I think about the productive plans I made just an hour prior and reason with myself that the new chair-bed needs to be taken advantage of as much as possible. Therefore, a new plan takes shape. I resolve to sit on my ass for the remainder of the day - lounging in my new chair.
My fellow volunteers have coined an expression to acknowledge moments like these, and I see no other possible comment to be appropriate. So I leave you with those two implicit, yet simple words…
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