Readers' Submissions

The Hopeless Dream Part 1

  • Written by Calibra
  • May 17th, 2005
  • 6 min read


I’m angry today, really angry. My bitch wife has totally pissed me off this time. Don’t try to sympathize with me. People like you, ha; I don’t need your sympathy. It's people like you that give status to people like me and make us who we are. Once, not so long ago, I didn’t have to work for a crummy salary, I paid them. Now I’m almost like you….almost, except that my salary would seem like a lottery win to most of you. Now that makes me feel a little better. I only wish my wife could see it that way. Anyway, enough about me, the minority. Let’s talk about you, the majority.

You know who you are. Oh yes you do. You are one of the many daft looking men I used to see on a daily basis waddling down the street totally convinced you can make it here in Thailand. Let’s enter your large bald liver spotted head and take a closer look at what’s knocking around in there. Oh yes, this should be fun!

You are considering the possibility that maybe you could have a good meaningful life here. You could easily get a job as a teacher; get a small apartment, a small brown pug for a girlfriend and eventual wife. This dream has occupied your thoughts for days now. The more you think about it, the more obvious it becomes. You’re sick of being persecuted back home for your age and looks. If only the folks back home could see your inner beauty like the Thai people can.

That familiar irritation / itch brings you back from your all too familiar day dream. The belt that holds up your standard issue khaki shorts is digging into your impossible girth. You hook it out with your thumbs and re-position it about an inch up or down. The heat and the sweat makes it uncomfortable and this little ritual has to be repeated at least every hour or so. The thing is, because you have no arse curvature due to your soft non physical life sitting at an office desk you have to have the belt synched really tight. Due to your age you will also have a wad of toilet paper between your collapsed buttocks. When you remove your sail like pants tonight while your leather twatted stretch marked whore is in the shower (lucky for her) you will, if you’re not too drunk to remember, remove the damp wad. Your waist will be covered in circular red welts, as if you’ve been wearing a cheese wire instead of a belt. Relatively speaking of course, that’s exactly what you have been wearing.

The heat does nothing for that persistent itchy rash on your wizened bollocks which has now spread to your inner thighs. The doctor reckons its worms but that can’t be right, you drink plenty of whiskey back home down the local and only eat the finest British food. If you drink whiskey, you’ll never get worms.

At least your feet are not so bad. The sandals allow the air to circulate freely and your nails are not so yellow like they used to be. Even the bunions seem smaller and that pesky fungal infection has all but disappeared.

Your standard two week holiday is coming to an end. You stop off at a small side street restaurant for something to eat. The plastic chair deforms yet amazingly does not die under your mass. It’s seen it all before. The plastic table is about three feet in front of you yet your impressive gut is almost touching it. You daren’t put your huge peeling hams on it for fear of imminent collapse. You continue with your thoughts.

It’s great here in Thailand. Little Noy or Wan or Lek or Pan really does love you. She hasn’t asked for any money yet and you go halves on everything, even food, which is good news for you as you definitely eat the lions share. She doesn’t care what you look like because Thai people are mostly interested in a ‘good heart’. You know she hates working but she has no choice. You are the only decent man?? she has met since she started working which, incidentally, was only a few weeks ago. When you go back to Farangland she promises to email and keep in touch on a frequent basis. You faithfully promise this will be the start of something truly special, and you mean it. She promises to wait for you and will always be there for you. She means it too.

A waiter comes to take your order. You clumsily put your huge dimpled mitts together in a wai like gesture and the waiter dutifully does the same. He was born to wai. You look like a circus seal. He’s smiling and laughing on the outside and he’s doing the same on the inside. You order enough to feed him and his family for two days and he gladly takes it. He goes about his business as you mop your featureless slack moon face with a damp salty handkerchief and continue dreaming of the new future. It’s possible. At this moment, anything is possible.

Your umpteenth meal of the day arrives and you shovel it into that rubbery hole in your face. A couple of cokes later and you feel like a new man. You pay up and leave a 20 baht tip. The waiter is all smiles. With a concentrated burst of effort you heave yourself up, rearrange you marquee pants and stomp off to your hotel for the obligatory afternoon nap. The waiter watches you as you huff and puff down the street, leering at anything remotely female, regardless of age, who happens to be within a 300 yard radius. This time though, he’s not smiling.

Another great night looms. You cannot wait to take your position at your favorite girlie bar with the love of your life and watch the world go by while you slide down a few dozen drinks. All the bar staff love you because you’re such a character, so witty and clever, and you can even say hello and thank-you in Thai. You’re so different from the usual bores they meet. Thank god you’re here. You’ve made more genuine friends for life during this two week stint than you ever had back home. The bar staff, like the waiter, are laughing and smiling on the outside. Like the waiter, they are laughing and smiling on the inside too. When you go back home you’ll be at work in your mundane meaningless office position with your stale friends telling them all about your latest adventure. You can definitely hold your own around the camp fire now when it comes to stories about sexual prowess, that’s for sure.

After yet another great night at Soi Cowboy you drunkenly heave your bulk into a tuk tuk along with an assortment of greasy snacks and your future companion (in that order) and off you go back to the Nana Hotel. The tuk tuk, like the plastic seat in the restaurant, deforms but does not die. It’s seen it all before too. Back at the hotel, the love of your life gladly escapes into the shower to mentally prepare herself once again for the ordeal ahead while you peel off your garments and collapse onto the bed, like a cow going down for the night. She appears and joins you. After a greasy sweaty twenty minutes of passion you place your little brown monkey to one side and drop off into a blissful slumber with one of your flabby slack arms draped over her, threatening to crush the life out of that childlike body.

This is the life for you. The plans for the great future, once set in concrete, are now set in granite. Game on.

To be continued…

Stickman's thoughts:

Brilliant!