Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 185

PROLOGUE

Unnatural dreams

And unnatural fears–

Normal appearance

But tortured lonely years.

Surrounded by others

That look like me–

Seducing me to think

That my days are free.

Free from worry,

Free from stress;

Free from life–

Of unnatural duress.

But I'm not fooled.

I know the deal.

Everyone is out to get me–

Only that is real.

Everyone is out to get me–

Of that I can see.

Paranoid?

Not me . . .

HOW PARANOID CAN YOU BE?

How paranoid can you be in Thailand? Well, here is an example. I bet I am not the only one who does this.

When most people land at the airport in Bangkok they think they are in Thailand. They are not in Thailand. You are not in Thailand until you have gone through Immigration and you are on the other side of the booth and exhaling and smiling and skipping. All that time you wait in the Immigration line you are not in Thailand and at any point in the Immigration protocol interview you can be refused entry to Thailand. Few think of this. I actually see fools show up at Immigration dressed and acting and talking as if they had a sign hanging around their neck that said, "I'm going to have sex with your daughter, Mr. Immigration Man."

When I show up at the Immigration officer for the interview it is apparent what I am in Thailand for. I tell him my purpose for visiting the Kingdom is tourism and not business. Then I tell him I have reservations at the Nana Hotel in Bangkok. He asked me these questions. I am not going to lie. Then he asks how long I will be staying in his country. Eleven days I say. Then he asks if I will be visiting any friends. No I say. Ok, the interview is over and he is able to reach his own conclusions about what kind of a visitor to his country I am. And the answer is that I am a sex tourist. And he is not wrong. Lying would not have worked, or been smart; and now he and I both know the same thing. I am in his country to have sex with his daughter. This is not a good thing. He can not be thrilled about this. So I hedge my bets the best I can.

What I do is I dress for the interview at Immigration. On the long flight from Boston (three flights of about 22 hours plus layovers) I wear loose fitting clothes of no particular aspect for the plane trauma. But once in the airport I change clothes for the Immigration interview. Before I get to the Immigration line I duck into the men's room and go into a stall and put on long dress pants, and a dress shirt, and dress shoes, and socks, and a tie. <When I read that the first time I thought you said you put on a dress – Stick> Then I brush my teeth, and wash my face, and comb my hair. I do all of this for an interview with Immigration of maybe only 20 seconds duration. I want to get IN to the country. He will know once he interviews me why I am in his country; but I do not want to challenge him, or give him any reason to pull me out of line, or deny my entrance. That's paranoid. That's how paranoid I am.

Now I know what you are all thinking. You are thinking: "Dana this is nuts because you are now way overdressed for the taxi line. You will swelter to death waiting for the taxi."

Way ahead of you, dude. Once I get to the main lobby of the airport I go into the men's room and change clothes again for the taxi line and the trip into the city. Ten minutes. Not a problem.

Seem like a lot? Really? Then you are not paranoid enough. Don't forget when the plane lands at the airport you are NOT in Thailand. And EVERY Immigration agent knows why you are in the country. You fool no one. So I hedge my bets. I dress for the interview.

That's how paranoid you can be!

Dana

P.S. You smarti-pants Village Elder Expats may notice that this essay applies to Don Muang Airport and that there is a change now at Suvarnabhumi Airport: to wit–there is no Men's Room between the entrance to the building and the Immigration line. Obviously this was written some time ago and has been laying around at Dana Central gathering post-editing patina like a Chinese cooking vessel acquiring the green hue of antiquity and art.

So what do I do now? Same-same. I just change into my 'interview' outfit of black pants, and black dress shoes, and black socks, and white shirt, and black tie on the plane before it lands.

I dress for the interview

And I ain't kidding–

I want them to let me in:

I want them to do my bidding.

It is the Interview of a lifetime

And so much depends–

On Mr. Immigration Man,

And what he commends.

I'm here to make love,

And to commit smiling sin.

But first I have to please–

First I have to get in.

So when you examine it

And look at every fact:

Interacting with Immigration

Is my very first sex act.

Yes, I want to have sex with Mr. Immigration Man's daughter–

That's the real game:

Not sex with any–

First one special dame.

Holy sufferin' Jesus what a body–

'Fxxx-me-on-a-stick' what a notion:

Sweet Jesus on a cracker I'm gettin' a roddy–

I'll be the boat and she can be the ocean.

Oh god she's leaning over–

Oh god what a delicious shape:

Please let me in Mr. Immigration Man–

We'll call it love and you'll call it rape.

Let me in the Kingdom,

I dressed to please.

I'm beggin' for a chance at your daughter–

I'm on my cracked and aging knees.

Let me through the line–

I dressed for success.

I haven't even met her yet,

But I want her I confess.

That's why I am wearing the black dress pants–

Same-same the black schoolteacher tie.

I want to plough your daughter–

And that's no lie.

So if you are in line

In beach pants and beads–

And you happen to notice

A man trying to please:

That's me my friend

Doing my part–

To get into Thailand:

And love lips to part.

Stickman's thoughts:

An amusing submission although I would not joke about being naughty with the daughters of government officials. It’s no laughing matter. I remember one Western gent I knew who de-flowered a policeman’s daughter. “Marry her or leave the country” was my advice to him.