To illustrate, let me narrate embarrassing moments #36, #37, and #38. Yes, there have been at least 35 other moments you haven’t heard about (averaging over 10 each week, a new record), but for the sake of time and convenience I’m skipping straight through the three most recent.
#36
I’m trying to copy an entire TOEFL practice book for two of our Chinese students at the copy shop next door. There are apparently no copyright infringement or unauthorized reproduction laws in Thailand, by the way, which I love. Anyway, the first person speaks no English, so with the expert charade skills and “Tinglish” I’ve developed over the past three weeks, I get the second person to understand that I want two copies, front to back, with a bound cover. I’ve been told this will cost about 70 baht per book.
I wait at the table outside, reading through my Lonely Planet Thai phrase book. The worker, who has learned as much English in the last twenty minutes as I have Thai, signals to me that the books are ready. The copies look great; very professional and good quality. Then he pulls out the calculator—the tested and proven method to communicate prices with foreigners—and it reads 1,780 baht. I do a quick calculation in my head: almost $60. I’m incredulous. And angry. He’s ripping off a dumb farong, and I don’t even have that many baht on me. So I charade-say that I’m going to get more money and will be right back, since I feel I have no other choice but to pay up.
(Embarrassing Moment #36 ½:) Back at the Zone, I ask two Thais how much a copy should cost. They debate for awhile, and decide it should be about 40 baht per kilo. I’ve never measured copies by kilo, I think to myself, and I wonder how one would go about doing that. I decide to ask, and after much confusion realize they think I’m asking about “coffee.” The miscommunication, a common theme of the day, is resolved, and one of them goes with me back to the copy shop.
At the shop, my friend asks the man how much it is, and he shows her the same calculator, which at a different angle out of the sun’s glare now reads 178.0 baht. I realize my blunder immediately and ask my friend to explain to this honest, hard-working man what happened. I pay him 200 baht, he gives me the correct change, and with many smiles and several iterations of “kop kun mahk ka” (thank you very much), I leave the copy shop with two very nice TOEFL books. I turn around one more time to smile again. He smiles back. We’re cool.
The next day, when I need another copy, I go to the other copy shop down the street to avoid doing anything else stupid.
#37
So I’ve been trying to learn some Thai words. I’ve even invested in an 8 baht notebook to write down some of these great new phrases and vocabulary. I also try to forego any reservations I might have about being annoying and not hesitate to ask anyone who speaks Thai to teach me a word here and there and listen to me say it several times until I get it right. Either they’re very good at hiding their exasperation, or they’re actually excited to teach a farong some Thai words.
Anyway, the other day we were riding back from the waterfall adventure with a couple from church, and they decide to teach me and Fish a few Thai words. They teach us one phrase: “c(h)oat aroi,” meaning “damn good” (that c(h) means you pronounce it like “coat” but with a little bit of a throaty “h” sound). But they explain that while it is slang, it’s really not like cursing; it’s more just expressing extreme emotion and is fairly common.
So they say, at least. The next day happens to be Sunday, and we’ve all come back from Sunday lunch after church. A few of us are sitting on the back patio eating various fruits I’ve never seen before, most of which are delicious, including: durian, the fruit that smells like a toilet but has such an intriguing, complex taste you kind of want to eat more; mangosteen, which has a beautiful bright pink pulp and a delicious white fruit inside; sala, which is just okay and not worth the effort to peel; and a few others.
The context of embarrassing moment #37: I’m eating my third mangosteen and saying how good it is. I am the only non-Thai person present at the moment, so I try to speak all five words of “Tinglish” that I know. One of them is “aroi,” delicious. And this fruit is very delicious, so I decided to use my new vocabulary. I preface it, saying, “I’ve heard you can say ‘c(h)oat aroi.”
They all laugh kind of an awkward laugh. Then one says, “Yeah, I mean you could, but it’s kind of bad.” Then I realize that, sitting among this particular group, is an older man who is a judge at the courthouse, owns three houses in Thailand, and is currently working on a paper about the EU system of government to present to the Thai government as it tries to re-envision its own systems. Brief deer-in-headlights look again, though for a different reason: all of these man’s qualities are reasons why I should have not chosen this moment to practice my new vocabulary.
So I throw in several smiles—I think I even “wai” him, putting my hands together in the form of a respectful greeting, then realize there’s absolutely no sense in greeting this man now. Frantically, I add a few “kawh tohd ka”s (sorrys), and more smiles. He’s been smiling a chuckling, amused smile this whole time.
The next day when we visit the courthouse, we happen to see him and he is very friendly. So I believe all has been set right again.
#38
We've gone to get Thai massages. After two women wash our feet--which are disgusting and calloused unlike Asian feet, which inexplicably somehow always look smooth and clean--we go into a dressing room to change into our massage clothes.
This outfit consists of a loose-fitting cotton shirt, which we don easily enough. The only other article is a pair of pants, the waist of which would fit a 400-lbs fat American. There is no drawstring or elastic, only two strings that presumably can be used to secure these pants.
After the most creative efforts to tie the pants, we somehow get them to stay up well enough to brave walking out of the dressing room. All the extra fabric that makes these pants the versatile one-size-fits-all pair that they are, has been gathered to one side and tied with a ginormous knot. We look like we weigh 400 lbs.
Halfway through our massages, the masseuses ask us to flip from our backs onto our stomachs. This rolling motion disturbs the delicate knot we’ve concocted, and we’re suddenly swimming in ten yards of untied cotton, wearing only our underwear (luckily we’ve left it on). The masseuses find this quite amusing and show us the proper way to subdue the troublesome pants, smiling all the while.
We’re smiling too, and after we’ve finished we tip the masseuses rather handsomely.
Moral of these stories: I don’t know. Just smile. Especially when a green caterpillar is crawling up your nose (Baffling Moment #43).
You ate durian?!
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