random love

We didn’t get arrested in Thailand.

We didn't get arrested in Thailand

Thank god.
Because that means we weren’t caught buying, possessing and using pot.

I don’t recommend doing what we did to anyone.
Looking back, our actions were at the very least risky and in general, really fucking stupid. Really fucking stupid.

Ok, GO.

My heart is pounding in my throat so hard, so fast.  We’re at the colorful night market on Silom Road in Patpong (infamous ladyboy district) and as we look through stalls selling random tchotchkes in the vein of cheap jewelry, counterfeit bags, sex toys, DVDs (basically everything you can think of and a lot more curious crap that you didn’t know existed), we come across a paraphernalia stand.

BF starts to make friends with the cute Thai guy whose face reads hopeful as we peruse one-hitters and glass pipes.

Here’s the thing about BF:
He can make friends with anybody.

I suppose he’s had enough experience dealing with drugs and drug dealers that I ought to trust his this-person-is-cool-or-not meter.  “I can tell by looking in their eyes, reading their body language, if they’re trustworthy.”  And it’s true that this young dude has a genuine air about him but I couldn’t help but notice that when we approached the stall, the older guy (whom I feel actually owns the stall) has disappeared into the black minivan with severely tinted windows parked on the street.

Granted, every stall has a large vehicle parked on the street behind it (how else are they going to transport their wares?) but the timing feels portentous.  Why did the guy disappear?  Because we’re more likely to buy shit from a young person who speaks decent English?  Probably, but as BF’s negotiations are leaning more and more towards the actual procurement of weed, I get anxious.

Young, cute Thai boy hollers at his friend and they’re parlaying fast and serious Thai that we shouldn’t comprehend.  But, as is often the case when illegal substances are the topic at hand, we get that they’re debating how far they’re willing to go to help us out.  The friend disappears into the black van which makes me fucking nervous.  This damn van is my ominous raven and my nerves veer towards paranoia.  Who’s in there?  Is this a set-up?  Are we making a huge mistake?  Is there no turning back?

Cute boy’s friend comes back and while we’re talking about random shit like American beaches and where people in Thailand go to vacation, BF shows me the bag that cute boy has passed on.  Okay, we are now in possession and my jangly nerves are acutely drumming through my skin.  So we buy a pipe and at this point I’m trying to Jedi mind trick BF into: Let’s. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here.  I keep looking at the van, expecting undercover assholes to intimidate us out of all the baht we have and then some.
Or arrest us.

Finally!  Things are wrapping up.  Hugs?!  Why are we hugging?  Fucking hell, if this isn’t the most obvious drug deal ever I don’t know what is.  Why would we be so affectionate if we hadn’t just scored something?  Fine, yes, loves all around- now can we get the hell out of here?

BF: So…you think we should just head ba—
Me: Fuck yes.  Are you kidding?  No way are we walking around with this shit on us.

I get so paranoid on the walk back, I’ve halfway convinced BF that we’re being followed and I grill him 10,000 times over, making sure he didn’t give our hotel deets to the young one.  I’m ready for this adventure to be over so we run the rest of the way back. Because that’s not obvious or attention-grabbing at all.

And then we get high.
And it is magnificent.

We flush what’s left down the toilet and trash the pipe the morning we check out of Thailand.
We briefly consider giving the leftover and pipe to our cab driver but c’mon, y’all.
That would just be reckless.

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3 thoughts on “We didn’t get arrested in Thailand.

  1. Pingback: Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss

  2. Pingback: ‘Backward’ Tale – The Boy and The Girl. | 3rdculturechildren

  3. Pingback: Weekly Writing Challenge: Backward | Joe's Musings

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