From Come That

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Yeah, Thailand has t-shirts, too.

I’m in a cab to the bus station terrified because people drive like bats out of Frogger hell here.  What is my obsession with bats lately?  The Thai currency is the baht; maybe that’s it.  

My exceptionally loud, troglodytic cabdriver just spent far too long trying to convince me to let him drive me eight hours to Phuket.  I’m in an epileptic taxi that growls like an underfed lion.  No thanks, buddy.  Just- my lord, these people on motorbikes!- get me to the station without undue death.

Just saw an ad for YMAX 4D.  The hell is that?  Does the movie climb out at you and reset your internal clock?  I would like to go back to just before the moment I decided on public transportation.  Although you couldn’t baht me enough to drive myself around here; the number of discernible traffic laws rests at zero.

I’m trying not to stress out because when the inevitable carnage happens, I want the loose-limbed protection of the baby and the drunk, not the tension-ridden rigidity of… me right now.  This is horrifying.  Mr. Boonsri Siritai, I read your name on your license.  I keep a blog that at least one member of my family reads every day.  Please be careful (I’m delicate).

Gads, the slums here are the most depressing I’ve seen since western Mexico, and it is harshing what is already a pretty harshed vibe.  If life hands me poor, I’d like to be rural poor, coaxing life from the land instead of from human depravity.

Oh, I know it’s not that easy.  I’ve done some thinking, I’ve been to some poverty workshops.  I am just not at all interested in being philosophical right now because of the tenuous hold I already have on my well-being.  Watch OUT for the guy with the MATTRESSES strapped to his moped!  There’s no way he can see.

Holay, I’m glad to be at the bus station.  I have six hours to kill; what am I going to do here?

Whoa, taken aback.  There is some shit in this place and don’t you forget it!  If I hadn’t already packed each suitcase to bursting, I’d bring back some of these animal print, glitter-striped, neon jeggings, complete with strategic cutaways.  The fun box would love this.  

Why are they selling bras here?  Ohhh, this one has bats on it.  It’s weird, though, it’s in the middle of the station.  I’m going to get my ticket.

In a Japanese fast food place now.  Dropped off my luggage because I was sick of… oh!  Lugging!  I get it.  The lady gave me these weird fruits and I ate them because I’m an IDIOT and I forgot about the first lesson of STRANGER DANGER and now I’m hallucinating and I think they were drugs. Is there such a thing as psychotropic fruit?  I don’t think mushrooms have spikes like that, I don’t know.  I really want to touch the pictures of the food on the walls.  They look real, and they’re spectacular!  Like Lois Lane’s Seinfeld rack. 

Maybe I just didn’t eat the fruit correctly.  Were you not supposed to eat the middle?  Everything’s shimmering.  She did bend way back and duck away from me and glance over her barrier shoulder with wide eyes, come to think of it, when I ate the whole thing.

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I’m stupid.  And paranoid now, too.

Okay I feel better.  Wooziness and glowy aspect to surroundings has mostly ceased.  Did I just have a mild panic attack, or did somebody legitimately give me some brain gas?  I need to look up what those things were.

Okay I feel worse.  I’m on a drink strike now, too.  NO MORE WATER.  I would rather dehydrate than go into those bathrooms again.  Did you know you have to PAY for TOILET PAPER here?  It comes out of a box from a machine that you have to stick your baht into in front of like everyone.  Seriously, Thailand?  You waste more paper boxing it up individually than you make charging the equivalent of a US penny.  

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Ewwww, there’s no soap here, either.  I feel… not so fresh.  I just went into the 7/11 to grab some hand sanitizer, but no luck.  Then I tried to buy a bottle of vodka so I could pour it over my hands  to clean them like I was getting amputated in the Old West, but they won’t sell that to me until 5 p.m.  

I’m mad at you, Bangkok.  You’ll sell me a PERSON, for crying out loud, at any hour, but I can’t get ahold of some alcoholic soap?

I’m going to the Internet cafe.

ADDENDUM: The Internet cafe didn’t work because it was using like, Windows 1.0: just a hole in your wall, so I’m posting this a day late.  I’m happy to say that I have arrived at my destination a mere 24 hours later, and the 7/11 finally sold me booze.  My hands reek of vodka and there are monkey bites on my head and hand, plus some scratches on my face, but he barely broke the skin and  I am otherwise unharmed.  Godspeed straight to hell, little primate…

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