You experience everything in Thailand (230)

In the series of stories that we post about something special, funny, curious, moving, strange or ordinary that readers have experienced in Thailand today: Thai Kassa-Kolder

KILL SALE STAMPS

This week I put it on the checkout belt of a Dutch supermarket: five pairs of women's tights, and a spray can of whipped cream. The somewhat older cashier looks at it and, while scanning this small collection, gives me 'The Look'. Who is somewhere between 'pervert' and 'what the hell is he supposed to do with that?' Her question about whether I wanted sale stamps was then so cold that there was a definite danger of icicles forming on her disapproving nose.

Once outside I wondered how she would have looked at me if my further shopping had consisted of depilatory cream and a hefty carrot. In that case, a concerned store manager would probably have been waiting at the exit. Kindly but urgently requesting personal data and conclusive motivation for such objectionable purchases.

Fear not, dear cashier lady. The nylons were intended for my mother who has difficulty walking. Who hopes to turn 93 this year. And she loves a dollop of whipped cream on her glass of eggnog.

What does all this have to do with Thailand, you will say? Well, everything. This incident made me realize that I have to travel to Thailand immediately. Because I have something to do.
With a completely different cashier lady.

LENS JUICE

My wife Oy's native Thai village is a picturesque yet medieval-looking hamlet. That houses only a hundred inhabitants, some simple food stalls with ailing owners, and the inevitable glittering temple.

For more serious purchases, one should therefore travel to a town further away. By car, moped or barge, depending on the size of the money bag.

Once, during one such shopping expedition, I entered the largest store there. A combination of wholesaler and small supermarket. Right behind the cash register I saw vials of contact lens solution. And even my brand. Having almost run out of stock, I therefore quickly and delightedly pointed out the desired goods to the Thai young lady behind the counter.

UNCOMFORTABLE

And, in my best school English, asked her for a bottle of liquid. The extremely beautifully modeled young lady, (a cross between Pocahontas and an Egyptian princess who bathes daily in donkey milk), turned out not to be aware of my presence. By stubbornly continuing to look the other way, where apparently something much more interesting was going on than a foreign white fart who wanted lens juice.

So I tried again and held out my Dutch index finger to the bottles that were so beckoning on the shelf. And asked again, a little louder this time, for a copy. Whereupon she turned the fair face still further sideways and allowed me only a glance at her shining raven-black hair. I did not understand.

Had her Thai prince just landed on the white buffalo between the bales of glutinous rice? Had a law come into effect that day prohibiting all conversation with foreigners? Did she turn up her beautiful Thai nose because of a shocking lack of farang hygiene? But no, just that morning I took my annual dip in the tub with sunlight soap, so that couldn't be it either.

But no response from beauty.
I simply did not exist. At least that's how it felt.

The situation got a bit awkward. As if someone had thrown their glass of red wine over the white dress of the hostess at a reception. And that someone was me.
The stalemate was finally broken by the arrival of a colleague of the neck-twisting young lady. Who took a bottle of the much-coveted chemicals from the shelf, accepted my bahtjes and kindly wished me 'Sawatdee Kha' as I left.
She does.

PUZZLE

Leaving me outside the building feeling like I have leprosy. Had I insulted Miss World without realizing it? English verbs scrambled and touched her to the depths of the Thai soul? Indecent proposals made in a foreign language? What could it be?

Mrs. Oy laughed when I told her later, and had an idea why. The girl certainly understood what I wanted, but probably didn't speak a word of English. And out of sheer embarrassment of having to speak to me, with the possibility of losing her beautiful face, she had turned her head away. And pretended I didn't exist. Ignoring my beam was the best solution to her language problem at the time. And it had worked.

BACK TO BEAUTY

You see, that's why I have to go back to Thailand.
To that store. To my beautiful shy cashier princess.

Then put five pairs of tights and a can of whipped cream on her counter. Because if beauty doesn't want to talk, she can at least give me 'The Look'. It is the same in all languages.

Submitted by Lieven Kattestaart