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  Bangkok Filth

  The Freaks, Frauds and Failures

  of the Expat Community

  in Thailand

  Ken Austin

  SATORI BOOKS

  Copyright © 2012 Ken Austin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book covered by the copyright may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means: electronic, graphic or mechanical, without the prior written authorization of the author. All characters in this book are fictional: any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Austin, Kenneth Robert, 1970–

  Bangkok Filth: The Freaks, Frauds and Failures of the Expat Community in Thailand / Austin, Ken

  First Kindle edition

  ISBN 978-616-7707-02-0

  Publisher

  Ken Austin

  Production Credits

  Layout: Ken Austin

  Cover design: Ken Austin (silhouette images provided by http://all-silhouettes.com)

  Editor

  Ken Austin

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  A Tale of Two Yanks

  Mr. Overcompensation

  The Meditation Retreat

  The Drunk

  Bangkok Filth

  Christ in the Classroom

  The Reverend

  Carpen Rutledge

  The Myths

  Suicide Solution

  Getting Settled in the Slums

  Heading Home

  The Transit Strike

  Mazoonga

  Musings on the Final Days

  One Soul in Bangkok

  Secrecy and Shame

  Death of an Expat

  Garvin the Meek

  The Flood

  Arse Wars

  Bangkok Noir

  The Embassy Thug

  The Voyeur

  Author Bio

  A Tale of Two Yanks

  Americans travelling or living abroad deal with more pre-conceived notions and unfair judgments than most other nationalities. An aggressive foreign policy and the most loathed president in recent memory are two reasons. And being the mightiest nation militarily, economically and technologically engenders a fair amount of envy and contempt. While somewhat of a stereotype, the image of the loud, obnoxious, over-weight oaf is perpetuated by enough of the country’s 300 million citizens that it has gained traction in the minds of many.

  Perhaps I’ve been lucky during my time in Thailand. Very few of my colleagues from the U.S. have lived up to that oft-repeated caricature. On the contrary, most have been intelligent, thoughtful and content to fly under the radar without attracting attention.

  However, it’s inevitable that on occasion a loud blundering yank will proudly occupy the role we have all come to expect. Sadly, those are the Americans that many remember while involved in temporary or fleeting situations such as vacationing in a foreign country.

  Not one to stray from those classic portraits of the most memorable and repulsive individuals we meet in our journeys through life, here I present two classic examples in A Tale of Two Yanks (and let’s face it, a story about a pair of genial clods who are nothing but harmonious would hardly be interesting).

  Yank Number One

  Clayton and I started working at the university in Chiang Mai on the same day. I worked in the Department of Logic while he had been hired by the Romanian Language section, a bizarre kind of ersatz faculty set up to cream hugely inflated tuition from the parents of students who didn’t have the grades to get into any of the regular programs. Graduates could claim a degree from the well-respected institution and the university could slurp up the huge fees and plough them back into such things as inflated salaries and lavish, self-congratulatory awards ceremonies.

  Because the Romanian language section was just getting started, there was little organization and only a handful of staff members. Though the focus was on teaching Romanian as a foreign language, many of the classes would utilize English language instruction and textbooks. English is the lingua franca of the academic world and one of the potential options for students graduating from the program was to go on to further study or one day become teachers.

  Together with Clayton, who would supposedly organize the English language instruction, the faculty contracted out for extra instructors through the Department of Logic, which was conveniently located in the same building.

  Clayton at first was garrulous and affable in that way that only yanks can be. Americans have a habit of coming on strong with personal information that others would wait months or years to reveal. Perhaps as a way to establish themselves in a new social setting or simply because that’s the way it’s done in their country.

  He was obviously intelligent and saw things in much the same way as I did. His sarcastic contempt for the absurdities of Thailand was mixed with a resignation for living out his years in a place that allowed him the freedom to drift along with few worries.

  Heavily over-weight, if not morbidly obese, he strode towards people in an aggressive and confrontational way. Even if his only intention was to strike up a good-natured discussion about some asinine behaviour that he had witnessed recently. His megaphone-loud voice added to the sense that he took up more space than his otherwise comical appearance necessitated.

  He was a class A and shameless slob in the manner he dressed and it was hard not to come away with the impression that it was intentional. Dirty, tired old loafers/slippers that he never pulled completely onto his feet and instead walked around in with the heels mashed down in a scuffling desultory way. He shuffled into the building wearing soiled cut-off shorts and a rumpled shirt that was never tucked in. He would then change into a pair of trousers he kept in his office and on occasion even added a tie to round out the disjointed look. Greasy, stringy, thinning black/greying hair, that had that certain “off” appearance that comes from artificial colouring, was slicked back and revealed a healthy widow’s peak.

  The left lens of his glasses was cracked and remained that way through the duration of his employment.

  At the beginning of the term I was in touch with Clayton a fair amount as we discussed the way the course would be taught and the breakdown of points distribution. He alternated between wanting to put together a course that mattered and being frustrated by the strange directives from Thai management.

  It was clear early on that he was a moody bastard. On some days he would almost blanch upon first greeting, as if he had been jarred out of some kind of early morning reverie. He would eagerly ask what was up in an almost deferential and accommodating way that didn’t sit right with what he had already revealed about his character. Nor did it feel appropriate considering the relatively equal positions we occupied and the fact that he was 15 years older than me.

  More than that, it was simply perplexing in contrast to the times he appeared snarling and contemptuous. Not an uncommon feeling amongst expats who experience the cultural differences in Thailand but strange because he took it out on all those around him including the people who were ostensibly becoming his friends.

  Abrasive Son-of-a-bitch

  It quickly became apparent that Clayton thrived on confrontation to some degree. After years of living in Thailand, he still couldn’t let absurdities lie and promptly strode up to the sixth floor office looking to vent his frustration whenever another ridiculous request was made. If his loud, energetic entrances were a source of amusement or annoyance to most of the other foreigners, they were downright disturbing to the Thais. Like a hippo heading for the water at dusk, Clayton would storm towards whomever he was intent on accosting while speaking in a voice that was too loud by numerous decibels.

  After only a few weeks, Clayton realized that the position he had accepted with
the university was one of the worst in terms of earning potential. While the teachers working for the Department of Logic were offered plenty of extra courses at a high hourly rate, he was stuck with the base salary, which on its own was only enough to scrape by. This compounded his increasing frustration and alienation.

  At about the same time, I discovered that Clayton had a pastime that apparently consumed most of his waking hours. He had a distinctive writing style that he used in e-mails: no capitalization and sloppy punctuation, grammar and spelling. He also had a unique and slightly strange e-mall address. It was a word in Thai that describes a person or creature forgotten or abandoned and which is intended to engender sympathy. The same writing style and a user name identical to his e-mail address showed up on a local discussion forum dedicated to living as an expat in various countries, including Thailand. There was no doubt it was Clayton.

  I checked in on the forum on occasion and was interested to watch the surreal spectacle that was developing. Clayton was a regular, nay obsessive poster. He literally must have spent full work-weeks’ worth of posting online. His posts were of the challenging, argumentative sort. They further demonstrated that he was obviously an intelligent person but also that it was difficult for him to find others to converse with on a similar level. A lot of frustration came through and he inevitably ended up verbally dismantling anyone who decided to engage in debate.

  He was rarely at the office now, with the exception of when he taught a class. On the occasion he did show up, I still had the opportunity to wander down to his office and discuss the same course we were teaching to different groups of students. Talk would inevitably turn to gossip regarding various other teachers we worked with. Clayton became animated and relaxed when ripping others and I shamelessly joined in.

  I realized that there was something in his character that gained a sense of relief in the bizarre stories that were part of other people’s lives. Perhaps as a way to forget his own troubles or just because the human condition intrigued him so much. And he was fairly open about the litany of screw-ups that had plagued his own life. He talked about the alcoholism that dragged him down for years and how he had beat the addiction. Similarly, in his online rantings, he hinted at some form of abuse in his youth.

  The fact that he needed to get at the intricacies and personal details that made up the lives of relative strangers while remaining slightly off limits himself, was confirmed when he told me he had worked as a 1-800 operator dispensing advice to people with relationship troubles. I wondered if the out-of-character and almost maudlin occasional references to his own personal failings were simply a way to get others to open up. In the process they would offer up more of their intimate secrets which fed his habit. I was once close to confiding in him regarding a problem that had exploded in my life but something made me hold back. Only a short time later, I was thankful that I had resisted and not offered up more fodder for his voyeurism.

  Layers of Weirdness

  Clayton was becoming more abrasive and it was obvious he didn’t care whether he sabotaged his job at the university. In fact, it was probably the best possible solution as it would free him from what was an unreasonable position and force him to seek opportunities elsewhere. Something he would be unlikely to do otherwise as he drifted along, the treatment of the Thai management fueling his indignation and justifying the hundreds of hours a month he spent insulting strangers in cyberspace. He left deadlines regarding exams to the last minute and his work was sloppy to the point of embarrassing. It was obvious that he just didn’t give a damn.

  I had considered him a friend for much of the year that he worked at the university though there were always some niggling doubts. Despite whatever had brought him to his current place in life and regardless of what bullshit he may have endured, the one over-riding thought about him that I could no longer shake was that he was disingenuous.

  The trials and fuck-ups of others were some kind of tonic in his otherwise bleak and empty life. He had found this one saving grace to somehow make the last years of life bearable; the freak show dramas of others as some kind of social experiment, to hover on the edges and suck out whatever bits and pieces nourished his damaged mind.

  I’m sure he knew that I was aware of his alter ego on the discussion forum since we had talked about the website a few times. Yet I never broached the subject of his rabid posting and he never volunteered the information.

  Throughout the year, he had at various times come into my classroom as I was teaching. It was to ostensibly inform me of some bit of info related to the course. He taught the same group of students at different times in the week and so he would greet them as he called me into the hallway. But usually he would simply blare into the class and approach me and then turn and lumber/strut towards the students and would start speaking at ear-splitting levels, an insane caricature of his normally extreme demeanor.

  He would proceed to make inane comments directed at various students. What the hell was he trying to prove? I would look at him with an obvious perplexed expression as he left, yet he would pull the same stunt a few weeks later. This validated the sense that he simply got a kick out of trying to mess with people for no good reason other than to provide a hit to the fucked up workings of his corroded mind.

  After Clayton left my classroom one day, I used the opportunity to get some feedback from the students regarding his behaviour. Did he always act and speak like this when he was teaching them? “Yes,” the answer came in unison. They claimed that this was, in fact, all that he did. A lesson-long rambling monologue as he played the role of what he thought a hip, world-weary university professor was all about. According to them, he rarely, if ever, referenced the course book that we were assigned to use.

  End-Game

  I still enjoyed talking with Clayton in his office but those instances were less frequent now. Finally, he seemed intent on driving me away completely. One day while I was in his office he launched into an attack on one of the other teachers who was a good friend of mine. The other teacher, Walter, had suffered a terrible family tragedy the year before but had been remarkably resilient and carried on. Clayton mocked the situation Walter had gone through. I was now convinced beyond any doubt that Clayton was a devious manipulator, probably hoping I would pass on the info which would then spark some twisted confrontation. I didn’t, of course. The incident only removed any remaining good feelings I had towards Clayton.

  As the semester drew to a close, Clayton started hinting about making ultimatums to management. He either wanted some kind of raise and/or the opportunity to teach more classes or he would resign. However, he never had the chance to throw down the gauntlet.

  There was a computer room that was off limits to everyone except teachers of the Department of Logic. Clayton disregarded the rule, however petty it was, and casually waltzed in one day and started preparing some documents using one of the computers. There had been some kind of security clampdown a few weeks previous due to some damaged machines that no one had fessed up to. They were in the process of making all the terminals password protected but hadn’t fully implemented the system yet. However, they were still keeping a close eye on things.

  Clayton assumed the usual careless attitude would apply and nobody would notice him. When one of the senior teachers advised him he couldn’t continue using the computer he snapped and exploded at her. That signaled his end at the university. The Romanian studies program administrators advised him that he was being let go.

  He finished up the semester and was gone. I didn’t witness the computer room incident and so can’t comment directly. But knowing the style of the management and the way foreigners are marginalized and treated as a necessary evil, I totally empathize with his outburst. I tried to offer my support but his sneering, abrasive side had taken full control and he wanted nothing to do with anyone connected to the university.

  Clayton was an intelligent, conflicted, and as mentioned before, ultimately disingenuous and manipulative ind
ividual. I never saw him again.

  Yank Number Two

  A few weeks after Clayton departed I saw a rotund, disoriented foreigner lumbering around campus. Because of mannerisms and the way he held himself, I knew he was a yank. Overweight and bespectacled, he had a sickly white complexion that was as close to a jail-house pallor as you can get in a country where the sun shines almost 365 days a year.

  A few weeks later, as the new semester was about to begin, I saw the oaf at the office. Perhaps because of the large number of homosexual Thai and foreign teachers already working there or maybe due to his initial manner, I got the distinct impression that he too was gay. Something about a physically unattractive and obese individual who is effeminate fills me with revulsion. I cursed the luck of having him as a colleague. Strangely, just as moments earlier he had a slight lilt to his voice and a mincing disposition, it disappeared in a flash and was replaced with a gruff exterior.

  He possessed quite possibly the loudest and most grating voice I have ever had the displeasure of being subjected to. He could be standing mere inches away and bellowing as if for the benefit of ensuring all within range knew he was present.

  On closer inspection, I saw that the pasty white skin of his face was pock marked with the scars of adolescent acne. He had a big rubbery pointed nose on which were perched a pair of coke bottle glasses. The physically unattractive mug was contrasted with a big set of perfectly aligned pearly white yank gnashers that were likely the result of expensive cosmetic dentistry. The contrast against his other pedestrian or repulsive features exaggerated the sense of phoniness.

  He blundered about in a clumsy, oafish way, seemingly oblivious to others around him. Within a few days he was shamelessly walking through the front doors of the building in which we worked decked out in the sloppiest attire imaginable. The distinct sense I had was that he was completely lacking in any self-awareness. He apparently had no inkling of how those in his vicinity viewed him.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the most viscerally repugnant individual I had ever met. Still, I made an effort to be friendly and help direct him around the sprawling campus. There was no reason to create a dysfunctional work relationship.