Thursday here in Bangkok. I never could have imagined my life would someday look like this.

Last night was really quite something. I decided to wander on down to the American Bar, where a new adventure undoubtedly awaited. I was correct, as per usual.

I wasn’t sitting in there very long before an “Old Pattaya Boy” (as they say here) came into the bar waving around a taser. He was pointing it at the ceiling and zapping it on and off. Everyone laughed as if this was completely normal behavior. One person even said, “The Legend has returned!”

Ohhhh Bangkok…

Sometime later, I was left alone in the bar with only company of this man. As soon as the others were out the door, he fixated on me and said, “They told me not to talk to you. What did you do to piss them off? Why are they all so afraid of you?”

I caved into the inevitable conversation, hoping this man would not taze me into oblivion. His eyes were red and wild, his hair was unwashed and strung out, and he looked like he could possibly fall over at any moment. Naturally, he was from Belfast, and was feeling much better since he stopped doing cocaine.

“I’m a writer,” I said. “They are mad at me because I have been writing stories about this bar.”

“This bar?” He repeated. “You’re writing about this bar? What are you writing about this bar?”

“Just my observations about the people I meet and some of the weirder things that happen to me. Like tonight.”

“You’re telling me you’re going to go home after this and write a story about some crazy old guy from Belfast coming into the bar with a taser?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Are you going to use my real name?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that then?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. There must be some reason they are still mad at me.”

“You must have written about someone they know.”

“I’ve written about a lot of people they know.”

“Like who?”

“Do you know [name redacted]?”

At this, his eyes widened.

“Yes, I’ve known him for over a decade now. How do you know [name redacted]?”

“I met him here. He walked right up to me and started telling me his life story.”

“Ah, so you know who he is back home. He’s a wanted man. He lives here in exile. He can never go back to Northern Ireland. I just wonder to myself… why was it that he was never arrested? Do you know?”

“I imagine he worked out some kind of deal with the right person. Maybe traded information in exchange for protection. I can’t say for certain because I don’t know. That’s just my theory given what I know about him.”

“So you’ve been writing about him?”

“Yes. Of course. He told me I could write about him as long as I don’t use his real name. He is very braggadocious, as you know. He’ll tell anyone off the street his life story.”

“Well, you know not everything he says is true. Some of his stories are complete lies and fabrications. He’s full of shit.”

“Yes, I recently learned that lesson the hard way.”

“Oh, he was just trying to fuck you, wasn’t he? You’re definitely his type. He likes brunettes. So did you fuck him?”

“He’s not my type. He’s too pretty. He can’t handle the smack down.”

“Too pretty? I’ve seen him get punched in the face. Multiple times.”

“Maybe he can handle a physical beating, but he can’t handle a verbal one. I gave him one and he just crumpled. He can’t take it. I need a man who is not afraid of me.”

“What happened?”

“We had a disagreement. He gave me false information about somebody. He pissed me off, so I called him a a child soldier and a little messenger boy. Now when I write about him, I use the name Hermes.”

The man from Belfast stared straight at me with no reaction whatsoever. He did not laugh. He did not smile. He simply nodded his head at me.

“That’s exactly what he is,” he stated plainly. “Hermes. The little messenger boy. That’s who he is. Spot on. You are right. You are correct.”

He continued staring down at me without breaking eye contact. I could see him doing the math in his head.

“I can’t imagine he was very happy when you said that to him.”

“No, he wasn’t, but he was messing with me and I didn’t like it. So I got right up in his face and messed with him back.”

“Good for you,” he said. “That’s the only way to get any respect around here. I’m starting to see why they are afraid of you.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“There’s more?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there is more. Why don’t you tell me why Jason over there is so mad at you? He would not tell me what happened.”

“Oh, you mean Uncle Jason. Yes, he came in here one night with his very handsome Irish friend and the two of us ran off together into the night. Turns out his friend is married. Oops!”

“I see. So he is mad because you fucked his friend?”

“In so many words, yes. It would seem that way.”

“Interesting.”

“You know, I am part Irish. I don’t know anything about being Irish though. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been around any Irish people. So, yeah, I would say things have gotten a little bit wild in here. It is what it is. I don’t know why Uncle Jason is still so hung up about it though.”

“I’ll have a nice little chat with Uncle Jason tomorrow and see what that’s all about. So nice to meet you, Betsey Horton.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

“You know,” he said. “It’s very impressive that you’ve gotten this much attention in such a short period of time. I’ve known these guys twenty years and I’ve never seen them hate anyone as much as they hate you. I have not met anyone like you here before. You are a rare bird.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you making any money off of this? Because you should be making money off of this. You are someone. Just think of how much money we could make if we could get the whole world to hate you!”

“We?”

He suddenly looked up at me with dollar signs sparkling in his eyes. I’ve never seen a lightbulb light up above someone’s head so fast.

“Yes, yes, I will speak with them about you tomorrow. Very nice to meet you, Ms. Betsey Horton.”

Obviously, there was much more to this conversation, but all of the remaining details identify this person very specifically, so I have chosen to exclude them in order to protect his identity.

So that was a fun night. Gotta love dem Old Pattaya Boys. This guy was so funny. He kept saying, “I’ve been doing much better since I stopped doing cocaine” over and over, lololol! Luckily, he did not break out the taser again. I guess I entertained him enough not to be thrown to the rancor pit, lol. Such is the way of Jabba’s Palace.

Maybe he will read this. Or maybe not! He did admit to me that he is basically illiterate, so it’s unlikely he’ll stick around. I’m sure Uncle Jason will be more than happy to give him the Spark Notes version. Or perhaps we can get Hermes to do it, lol.