RAWBangkok

I want to complain about two things.

First, there’s a thing that some young Thai guys do with their hair that bugs me — enough to actually share it with you.

There’s a hair style that certain young guys get… it may have a name, but I have no idea what to call it, so I’ll do my best to describe it.

The hair is lightened several shades from it’s natural color, and apparently permed to give it fullness.  It’s cut long-ish and in layers, and with all the processing it gets a dry, wiry look to it.  The hair style is designed to come down to ‘points’ in several places, particularly in front of the ears where sideburns might be on another person.

Personally I don’t like the hairstyle at all… I think it looks like shit.  But that’s not what bothers me.  After all, I’m no fashion plate.

What bothers me is this:  the guys with this haircuts seem to invariably walk around touching their hair all the time.  They pull at it and twist it to make sure it looks the way it should.  This hair-touching behaviour is normally a habit associated with ladyboys, but these guys aren’t effeminate.  I’d say, in fact, that in their social group they are probably quite stylish, and maybe very popular with the girls.
But no male human being should spend that much time thinking about his hair.

Maybe I’m just jealous because I don’t have any.

My second complaint is quite specific in nature; it’s a complaint against two American guys I saw on the subway train on Wednesday night.

We were actually on the platform together in Sukhumvit station.  Their physical dimensions are important to the story, so let me briefly explain.

I am a big boy — both tall and wide.  But when I say ‘wide’ I’m not talking about broad shoulders, but a broad middle.  I am stout, stocky, overweight, big-boned.  In a word, I am fat.

But not grotesquely so.

The two American guys I saw on the platform on Wednesday night were fatter than me.  One guy had swarthy skin that doesn’t get sunburned.  He was notably overweight.

His friend had light skin and was sporting a sunburn.  He was grossly overweight.

It was clear where his sunburn came from, because they were talking with great animation about their day on the golf course.

Not that I was evesdropping.  These guys are American, and like me, they speak at very very loud volumes.  If you didn’t want to hear them, you wouldn’t be able to help it.

On the platform that seemed okay.

Then we got on the train.

There were a few open seats.  Notably, there was a girl sitting in the middle of the row — a slender girl of about 30 years — with an open seat to either side of her.

Now, let me say here that it is my habit never to sit next to someone I don’t know on the MRT or BTS in Bangkok.  The reason is that the seats are designed to accommodate Thai people, and with my large frame I take up all of my space and a fair bit of theirs as well.  So I only sit when I see two or more open seats together.

I don’t think this is a standard that needs to be applied by anyone else, I just want to explain where my thinking is on my personal train etiquette given my abundant proportions.

As I say, as we boarded the train, I saw the slender girl with an available seat on either side of her.

The two American guys went straight to them, and sat almost simultaneously.

The girl all but disappeared between these two massive bodies of fat enclosed in shorts and tee shirts.  I really felt sorry for her.

Initially there was a surprised look on her face, but it passed in half a moment and she became stoic again.

The only thing she did to demonstrate that she might be perturbed was to reach into her purse and take out her yaa dohm… a tube of menthol that you sniff.  It can be used to help relieve headaches or to mask a bad smell.  I don’t know if it was specifically a reaction to these two lardy yanks landing next to her, but the timing seemed more than just coincidental to me.

Now, sitting down is okay, even if you’ve fairly well smothered a passenger in fat.

But I didn’t think it was very polite when these two guys continued to carry on their conversation about the day’s round of golf across the front of this girl, as though she didn’t exist.
I have a loud voice, that cuts through a crowded bar like a foghorn, much to the embarrassment of most of my drinking companions.  I am somewhat embarrassing to talk with in a bar due to my volume and indiscretion.

What it embarrassing in a bar is really uncalled for on a public train.  The two Yanks were just like me… loud and non-stop.

But I thought they finally passed from what might have been acceptable to what was definitely rude when the sunburned guy started describing how shots could be hooked out of bounds on the 17th hole.  His arm shot out and bent to the right, his elbow nearly grazing the poor girl’s chin.  He was now leaning across her in his intensity to pass on every bit of information possible about the ornery 17th to his friend, with no regard for the nearly invisible Thai girl who sat clutching her purse and a plastic bag with her dinner.

I was honestly embarrassed to have the same accent as these two guys.  I was half a train car away and could hear them as clearly as if they were standing next to me.

I started to approach them and offer my view on manners and good behaviour, but thought better of it.  I thought again and actually moved a step forward before deciding that there was little likelihood of a good ending if I interfered.  After all, it wasn’t as if the girl were being mugged or raped… if she really wanted to she could simply stand up or move.

But I was embarrassed all the same.  My countrymen.

Anyway.

My final thought in this blog is a more positive one.

On Wednesday night I went to Nana Plaza for a while.  If anyone is wondering where all the 40 and 45 kilo go go dancers are, I can reliably report that — on Wednesday night at least — a lot of them were on stage at Mandarin Club.

Whoever does the hiring at Mandarin Club shares my taste in women.  They have tons of short and slender girls with narrow waists, small natural breasts and smooth skin, mostly devoid of tattoos.

There were many fresh-faced, lovely girls, but sufficient numbers who had a harder-edged look about them.

The girls outnumbered the customers 3:1 or 4:1, so the pickings were great.  Probably half the girls I saw in the bar would rate an 8 or better on the Werewolf meter.

High season may never arrive, but assuming it’s on its way, if you’re a Bangkok resident you’ve probably only got about two more weeks to take advantage of these conditions.  Most of the guys I saw in Mandarin had two or more girls giving them attention, yet there were plenty of beauties untouched and available.

If you like you’re girls with large breast (especially enhanced) or with a bit of meat on them, then you’ll probably find the Mandarin crew not to your liking.  They may look simply anorexic.

But if, like me, you like the tiny spinners, you may want to drop into Mandarin Club for a look before high season arrives.