The newspaper on the middle of the folding table of the street side eatery glowed with Grotesque and peculiar images of murder, rape, scandals and freak accidents, painting a colorful yet wicked record of contemporary Siamese existence.

Since he had called Thailand his home for the last half a decade, Christopher Stevens preferred the local newspapers as his window on the immediate world. Unlike back in the states, it wasn’t so much about the objectivity, quality and style of reporting, let alone the newspaper’s brand that triggered interest and sales; in Thailand, a country where cigarettes and guns are censored on public television, printed media relied on the best possible eye catchers to reel in impulse readers and buyers.

Today it was a young actress and her no-name boyfriend’s private-turned-public phone clip scandal that had the biggest headline, coupled with a blurry still-shot of dubious deeds. Chris imagined himself in the bedroom of the up and coming underground amateur clip which he’d seen with his girlfriend the previous night.

“Hey mate,” A deep Australian accent of the burly man decked in pink long sleeved dress shirt with a white necktie and navy blue slacks slapped his hands down on the table.

“Did ya get me the same dish I got last time, with the fried egg?”

Chris looked up across to Nathan, briefly nodded and returned his focus back to the newspaper. Sipping on the cola-bottle-dipped straw, his eyes jumped around the previous day’s madness.

“After a year in the country, you’d think the guy would have learned how to order the most common dish by now.”

Seated adjacent to Chris, the guy who resembled a weathered version of James Dean was quick on the trigger.

Nathan sat down and grabbed the one page laminated Thai menu, pointing to a picture of chilli-basil stir fried. “I’m not talking about the pud-ga-pow, here. I had this other chilli paste stuff,” pointing to the next picture, “What’s it called again, Chrissy?”

Neil stole the answer. “That my friend is prick pao.” As he finished his sentence, a potently scented burst of smoke came from the cook’s frying pan 5 meters away, “Speaking of which, that smells yummy, I think I’ll have the same.

Chrissy boy, tell the cook to change my order of kao-put to prik pao, with beef and a fried egg as well.”

“Well, well, well—look who’s talking!” Nathan grasped his opportunity. “Mr. need to learn how to order for yourself…”

“Will you two just give it a rest already?” Chris’s eyes were glued an atrocious scene on the bottom right corner.

“Nevermind Chrissy, I’ll show Nathan here how a real man does it.” Neil grabbed the menu from Nathan’s hand and walked over to short woman scooping Chris and Nathan’s dish onto two plates of rice. Neil executed simplified Thaiglit to convey his change in order. “No kao pud gai, yes pud prick pao neua kai dao, okay?’

The lady–whom could have passed as Neil’s niece or daughter, even though was more likely the same age–pleasantly tickled by his efforts, gave a reply with one of the few words in her English arsenal. “Again?”

Neil repeated the same sentence even more slowly and clearly, backed with reliable menu pointing gestures.
Chuckling, she affirmed understanding. “Okay, okay, mai ao kao pud gai, ao pud prik pao neua kai dao laat kao chai mai?”
“Chai kup, chai kup.” Neil wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead and walked back to the table proudly smiling. “Leave it to a lady’s man to bring the bread home.”

Nathan smirked. “You call that a lady’s man? The bird was laughing at you, not with you. From this angle, you looked more like a lady boy!”

1 Comment

• 

  By Rhyta B., July 15, 2009 @ 2:38 pm

  555 is this a real story?

Other Links to this Post

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a comment