I'm generally pretty good. Sometimes, I'm not even thinking about screaming something pertaining to fairness or the lack thereof. But sometimes, it's especially challenging.
Why yes, I am going to tell everyone about it via the free therapy known as "blogging."
Thank you, doctor, but I think I'll pass on another.
For some reason, what should've been a 3 hr minivan ride took 5 1/2, with a driver reliving dreams of rally driving while the lady next to me was violently sick and unable to find barf bags onboard, dumping out sundry cosmetics and unmentionables from a shopping orgy and filling to overflowing or simply bursting the bags never designed to be anywhere near such usage. When we got to town, my explanations of where to go fell short and I was kicked out half a dozen blocks from the songtau I'd need to take to get to the other end of town and unload before getting across it to a follow-up appointment at the hospital, in 15 minutes. So I took a taxi straight to the hospital, where the nice receptionists now recognize me and the screening nurses bump my weight to the next kg or two and boost my bloodpressure to the accepted minimum.
While the infection in my upper leg and calf has been abating, the doc was concerned about my foot. Looks like the last wreck damaged enough of the vascular system that I'll have problems with varicose veins, blood going stagnant in capillaries, and horrible circulation, all of which will be exacerbated by standing or sitting or kneeling upright, for the rest of my life. So he gave me more meds to help beat the infection and sent me on my merry way.
After that, I was having challenges keeping it together. It was hard not to scream back at the people shouting "YOUYOUYOU!" "HEYHEYHELLOHEYYOU!" and "HARRYPOTTERHARRYPOTTER!" or at least shake my fist at the ungodly number of vehicles passing and honking at me, either taxis/songtaus looking for a soft spot or people looking to get a rise out of the farang.
It was hard not kicking trees and walls and screaming a messy tirade focusing on "NOT FAIR."
It was hard not falling into a bubbling heap and screaming a messy tirade focusing on "WHAT'S IT TAKE?"
And then came a dog. It's one of the local half-feral soi dogs, a little black thing about equivalent to a javelina in size, color, and texture, but with a collar put on presumably by the kindly souls who give it leftover rice it picks through for meaty bits before cruising the vending stalls across the main drag for leftovers or handouts.
We have a history. I won't guess whether it dislikes farangs, backpacks, blonds, multiple-strap sandals, Wednesday afternoons or some combination thereof, but last week it found it appropriate to attack my ankles.
Soi dog: 1. My only pair of nice cotton pants: enroute to cutoffs.
So tonight it came at me again.
I was not in a mood.
In fact, for the first time in my life, I was contemplating some seriously severe violence to an animal.
And then I saw the "owners" sitting on their front bench, staring.
But instead of calling off the dog, they start pointing and smiling and getting excited/giggly as the thing attacks my ankles, and they broke into hilarity as it connected and I let loose a rather foul couple of words when it connected with the aforementioned lifelong problem ankle.
Difficult spot: an act of reasonable violence would forever mark me in the eyes of these people and every single person who lives in or passes through this neighborhood. But there's a dog attacking my ankles.
Plan C: one of the local boys, about right for grade 5, certainly not G6, comes roaring around the corner on his folks' old bike. He manages to miss the farang/feral mutt in the middle of the road by slamming on the brakes and almost tipping as he skids all cattywhompus into a speedbump. In the ensuing beat of silence, I take a couple of long steps away from the dog, and all the brown eyes turn to me. There's another beat and all the voices behind those eyes started giving voice to the reproach therein.
Right about then, as I limped off with as much dignity as I could muster, it was a tall order not to loose all my frustrations and disappointments at the immediate representatives of Thailand. They can't help themselves being Thai anymore than I can help my American perceptions.
So instead, I resolved that if I ever meet one of the authors whose written about the Thai smile and Thai laughter and how quiet and reserved and polite Thai people are, I will punch that SOB in the nose.
Why yes, I am going to tell everyone about it via the free therapy known as "blogging."
Thank you, doctor, but I think I'll pass on another.
For some reason, what should've been a 3 hr minivan ride took 5 1/2, with a driver reliving dreams of rally driving while the lady next to me was violently sick and unable to find barf bags onboard, dumping out sundry cosmetics and unmentionables from a shopping orgy and filling to overflowing or simply bursting the bags never designed to be anywhere near such usage. When we got to town, my explanations of where to go fell short and I was kicked out half a dozen blocks from the songtau I'd need to take to get to the other end of town and unload before getting across it to a follow-up appointment at the hospital, in 15 minutes. So I took a taxi straight to the hospital, where the nice receptionists now recognize me and the screening nurses bump my weight to the next kg or two and boost my bloodpressure to the accepted minimum.
While the infection in my upper leg and calf has been abating, the doc was concerned about my foot. Looks like the last wreck damaged enough of the vascular system that I'll have problems with varicose veins, blood going stagnant in capillaries, and horrible circulation, all of which will be exacerbated by standing or sitting or kneeling upright, for the rest of my life. So he gave me more meds to help beat the infection and sent me on my merry way.
After that, I was having challenges keeping it together. It was hard not to scream back at the people shouting "YOUYOUYOU!" "HEYHEYHELLOHEYYOU!" and "HARRYPOTTERHARRYPOTTER!" or at least shake my fist at the ungodly number of vehicles passing and honking at me, either taxis/songtaus looking for a soft spot or people looking to get a rise out of the farang.
It was hard not kicking trees and walls and screaming a messy tirade focusing on "NOT FAIR."
It was hard not falling into a bubbling heap and screaming a messy tirade focusing on "WHAT'S IT TAKE?"
And then came a dog. It's one of the local half-feral soi dogs, a little black thing about equivalent to a javelina in size, color, and texture, but with a collar put on presumably by the kindly souls who give it leftover rice it picks through for meaty bits before cruising the vending stalls across the main drag for leftovers or handouts.
We have a history. I won't guess whether it dislikes farangs, backpacks, blonds, multiple-strap sandals, Wednesday afternoons or some combination thereof, but last week it found it appropriate to attack my ankles.
Soi dog: 1. My only pair of nice cotton pants: enroute to cutoffs.
So tonight it came at me again.
I was not in a mood.
In fact, for the first time in my life, I was contemplating some seriously severe violence to an animal.
And then I saw the "owners" sitting on their front bench, staring.
But instead of calling off the dog, they start pointing and smiling and getting excited/giggly as the thing attacks my ankles, and they broke into hilarity as it connected and I let loose a rather foul couple of words when it connected with the aforementioned lifelong problem ankle.
Difficult spot: an act of reasonable violence would forever mark me in the eyes of these people and every single person who lives in or passes through this neighborhood. But there's a dog attacking my ankles.
Plan C: one of the local boys, about right for grade 5, certainly not G6, comes roaring around the corner on his folks' old bike. He manages to miss the farang/feral mutt in the middle of the road by slamming on the brakes and almost tipping as he skids all cattywhompus into a speedbump. In the ensuing beat of silence, I take a couple of long steps away from the dog, and all the brown eyes turn to me. There's another beat and all the voices behind those eyes started giving voice to the reproach therein.
Right about then, as I limped off with as much dignity as I could muster, it was a tall order not to loose all my frustrations and disappointments at the immediate representatives of Thailand. They can't help themselves being Thai anymore than I can help my American perceptions.
So instead, I resolved that if I ever meet one of the authors whose written about the Thai smile and Thai laughter and how quiet and reserved and polite Thai people are, I will punch that SOB in the nose.
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