Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 204
What's a reverie? Well, it is kinda like a daydream. Not a night dream, but something you would be thinking about in a dreamy way during the daytime. For instance you might be staring at the attractive woman sitting across from you at work and having a dream about the two of you together. Or you might be dreaming of giant bat like creatures crashing through your boss's window and tearing his face off. Another common reverie or daydream we all share is what we are going to do when we win the lottery. Houses, and boats, and fancy cars, and trips, and acts of charity populate these daytime dreams. I would spend the money on international sign up centers for the Church of Dana, and the Dana Fan Club, and the movement called Danaism but that is just me.
Anyway: I have had a Thai, and more specifically Pattaya, reverie for years. Daydreaming this drama gives me pleasure. So what I want to do now is to give you my reverie right up to the climax and then you can finish it. I'll lay it all out with all the information and all the details you need to know, and then you step in at the end and take over. The last thing you will hear from me is:
"Now you finish."
Why? Because if you finish the reverie then you will be more involved. This dream needs soldiers. I am recruiting. Get ready to climax.
To wit: if you read the Thai newspapers regarding Pattaya, the amount of crime, and escalating crime, and violent crime is now impossible to ignore. An excellent example of one of these newspapers is the Pattaya City News. The front page broadsheet that you scroll through on the computer screen is crime after crime after crime. Much of it directed at foreigners and much of it is perpetrated by male Thai punks on motorbikes. It is either the snatch and run, or the hold up. Local scum involved in crimes of opportunity against defenseless people on the lookout for Thai smiles. I hate these punks. I would like to do a little dance with this scum. Here is the plan–the reverie. And don't forget: I'll start but you finish.
1. Twelve 24", 30", and 36" 10mm imitation gold chains including concave curb, brick upon brick, dual sliced cylinder, basket rope, and Gucci anchor chain styles.
2. Two ghetto style gold spinner watches, cash symbol gold money clip, gold plated dog tags, gold and diamond skull pendant, gold rings for every finger, and ear studs.
3. One Aussie style long duster coat of purple dyed crocodile with Velcro closures instead of buttons. Collar and sleeves cut away.
4. One sawed off shotgun. Right side leg holster.
5. One Uzi hanging in a sling off my left shoulder.
6. Full body armor front and back including skirt to the mid thigh.
7. Backpack medical kit.
* Note: No night time sighting systems. This is not about marksmanship or hunting. Just putting down trash at point blank range. Ballistically the shotgun is overkill but it does three things. It stops conversations with shock and awe, it stops vehicles, and it stops witness involvement.
11:00 p.m. to 1:00 a.m.
Any night time empty soi near high density Thai punks on motorbikes.
I jump off the baht bus at the corner of a soi on 2nd Road and sit at the nearest bar. There are Thai punks all over on their motorbikes. And they are not hanging out to find some foreigner to help them with English. It is a thieves' paradise especially for any farang fool who knows too little, and drinks too much; and decides to use the soi as a night time shortcut to Beach Road. The soi is dark with almost no traffic. No lights, no houses or shops, no vehicles, and no people. Brush and trees on both sides of the road. Looking for a place to do some business and dump some trash? Perfect. I love this road.
After enough time spent at the bar broadcasting my big wallet, and my neck full of huge gold chains, and my stupid rich idiot gold bling accessories; I step down to the street, hang a right, and start down the dark soi. It is dig down deep time now. Mind control, breath control, and final commitments made. As I start down the soi and the darkness envelops me I start to drag my right foot as if I am a cripple. Dragging my foot I look like a little strange farang. Sending a message: I am old, I am short, I am small, and I am weak. Bullies never fight in their own weight class. It is almost too easy.
It is just me and the dark road for about fifty yards. I have chosen carefully because there is no moon tonight, and it is overcast so there are no stars. A quiet time in the beautiful tropical Kingdom with night time sounds and gentle breezes coming up from the ocean. Then the surprise. The two lights do not come from up behind me, but from up ahead. No matter. The headlights do not follow each other up the narrow road, but come up side by side and with a little extra power because the road slopes upward from Beach Road to 2nd Road. Four guys on two bikes and the drivers roar right up to my face holding out big kitchen knives and waving them at my gold neck chains. Their companions start to get off the backs of the bikes. They are holdiing handguns.
I drag my crippled foot forward, tear open the coat, bring the sawed off shotgun up on my right, pivot the sling hanging Uzi on my left, insert my trigger fingers, take a breath, and . . .
"Now you finish."
Dana, you can't do that! We want a Danaesque ending!