Journal Entry Day 2

Continuing this mock journal series. A fictional account of adventures in Southeast Asia.

It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon when humid air hit my lungs and sunshine touched my pale skin. I explained to cab driver after cab driver, that I had a ride, that I knew where I was going, that I did not need to be bothered. Thailand has beautiful beaches and ethically challenged public transport drivers. To curtail this, the Thai government setup an English booth where they would translate your destination to the driver. They tell you a price to expect to pay in an effort to avoid the infamous Thai runaround. There's a phone number to tattle tale on the driver, if anything is suspicious. Of course, as with anything governmental, there wan an inefficient, long line.

It must of been the sunshine, because the sleepless flight was not rearing its head mentally. Physically, I had bags under my eyes, that you could ski down. And Pobby, the driver was quick to let me know, "You look sick." "Do you have swine flu." Anyway, that's what I think he said. The rest of the exchange went something like this:

Me: Bobby, do you think I have swine flu? (note: Many Asians, especially in Korea, have English nicknames to make it easier on foreigners. They seem to like these names as well, that's why I thought his name was Bobby.)
Pobby: Pobby, Pobby.
Me: Javy? (English can be very hard to understand...)

Pobby was now showing obvious displeasure in our inability to get past the most rudimentary of conversations. Giving up on having a conversation on my health, Pobby worked through the adversity and said, "Like Bobby, but P." Check mate. "Pobby!!!" I yelled, bringing a smile to his sweaty face. Thailand is known as the land of smiles. I know this due to Pobby's reckless tailgating. Being mere feet from a cab in front of us, I could easily make out the bumper sticker on the car in front of us. When Pobby ran the red light, well, that's when I started to cheer. Cheaper taxi rates are truly one of life's little pleasures.

Getting took advantage of; however, is one of the worst things. Pobby, not worried about any foreigner reporting him, pulled into a filling station off the highway. Pobby handed the gas station clerk, a man that checked in at about 5 feet, all the money in his hand, which totaled less than three dollars. And, in that moment, I became confused. This should not happen, I thought. On the other hand, it was only for a minute, and the meter might of gone up fifty cents. Poor Pobby is probably down to his last smoke judging by the bent and weightless pack of Marlbaro Reds. I can't say anything. He only put three dollars in the cab.

"Pobby, no more red light running, okay?" Yes, Yes, we almost out of gas back there," he said, flashing a million dollar grin, that let me know that this vacation was not about sweating the small stuff.