Life

On Sunday morning I was up early for a drive to Bangkok. Wearing my best shirt and second-best pair of jeans, I was comparatively smartened up in order to attend the AGM of our condo; to be held in the offices of our management company.

This was to be the last meeting in their offices, because we have kicked them out and a new company will take over in June; assuming endorsement from the owners at the AGM.

Pulled into their car park with time to spare and headed straight for the toilets. An early start meant I had not had the chance for my usual morning date with destiny and it was with some pleasure and relief that I settled down for what can best be described as a good shit.

Whilst going about my business I exchanged texts with She Who Must Be Obeyed.

I have arrived in Bangkok.
Good! Has the meeting started?
No, I am having a shit.
Ewwww.

Poetic stuff.

Anyway, almost time for the meeting so I put away the phone and reach for the toilet paper. There is no toilet paper. THERE IS NO TOILET PAPER!!!

Never mind, I will use the spray thingie that the Thais use. There is no spray thingie.

A lesser man may have panicked at this point; but my years of toilet training kicked in and I looked around for a toilet paper substitute. There was nothing.

But then I remembered that in my bag I had a booklet containing the papers for the meeting. I will spare you the details, but suffice it to say that meeting agenda papers are not absorbent and it took most of the contents of the booklet before I felt sufficiently cleansed in the botty department.

I then discovered another fact about meeting papers. If you cover them in shit and drop them in the toilet; they don’t flush. Instead they form a coagulated mess which sends a very clear message: “Someone has selected pages bearing the letterhead of the company that owns these toilets, coated them with shit, and dropped them in the bowl. Someone doesn’t like us”.

I scurried out as employees of the company were sauntering in, unaware of the horror that awaited them. I spent the next two hours trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact that my meeting papers were much reduced in number. I am sure there were whispers.

Thankfully the managing company were voted out, so I will never visit their offices again. I shall ensure the contract for the new company includes the provision of toilet paper in their loos.

Up at 05:00 to take She Who Must Be Obeyed to the bus station. Lucky girl is avoiding Pattaya Songkran day by attending a two day seminar in Bangkok. I return to bed and doze a little longer before arising to check out the box of goodness that finally arrived yesterday, no thanks to the wankers at TNT.

Within the box is a new tripod. I confirmed the need for a new tripod by having the wife carry around the old one a few times on photo trips. “This is very heavy and falling to pieces; you should buy a new one” was her sage advice. I did’t really care about the first part of her sentence, but the “you should buy a new one” phrase is always taken to heart.

But she was right about the old one too. It’s an aluminium monster that I have had for years. It weighs too much and is developing a tendency to shrink in length when it shouldn’t.

The tripod of my dreams (I do dream of tripods, and in my dreams the tripod always has two long legs and one tiny, stubby one. I don’t know what this means.) has always been a Gitzo; big bucks, light weight.

But then I discovered a British company called Three Legged Thing, with a sense of humour and a new range of tripods; and before you could say “Paypal”, I had slapped down an order for a “Brian” (all their tripods are named after famous rock guitarists).

It was my Brian that finally arrived yesterday, and I spent much of today fiddling with his many features, plus taking a photo of him next to a temple; just to prove there was a tripod from 3LT in Thailand.

At some point there will be a review which no doubt pleases you greatly.

The latest in my trilogy of “suck” posts (there may be more) and today I return to a topic close to my heart and even closer to my trachea, my buggered thyroid.

It’s been a few weeks now since I attempted to murder it. Since that time I have been chucking down handfuls of pills every day, including a triple dose of thyroid suppression pills, beta blockers, and a little white pill the purpose I which I forget (memory booster?).

The combined assault from the radioactivity and the suppression pills seems to be working because I feel I have now moved from being hyper thyroid to the less obviously named (unless you are a whizz at ancient Greek) hypo thyroid.

Symptoms include feeling depressed and I can confirm that I feel very depressed. Things I have to be depressed about: None. Things I am depressed about: Everything. I mean really, whats the point of living? And the cat has vomited. Again. Fuck, I’m so miserable.

Next up in the symptoms list is a lack of energy. Just was well that it is Songkran and I can’t go out and do much, because I wouldn’t if I could. Remember the polo shots I took more than a week ago? Still not processed. Some crucial documents to draft for the condo committee? Not so crucial that they can’t wait until tomorrow (repeat daily). Stuff I have accomplished over the past week: Nothing. If I wasn’t so depressed I would worry about it.

Never mind, my lack of energy allows me time to address another symptom; sleepiness. This one is easy to handle. I just lie down on a conveniently flat surface and take a nap; several times a day. I wake up refreshed, depressed and unwilling to tackle anything, which means I usually turn over and have another snooze.

Anyway, I need plenty of rest during the day because my nights are interrupted by symptom number four, muscle cramps. The usual target is a leg and I wake up screaming whilst extending the cramped leg in a vigourous fashion. Not much fun for the cats who are sleeping at the end of the bed. Poised to flee when they hear the scream, they find themselves being kicked across the room into the wall. Our relationship is becoming strained.

No so my relationship with She Who Must Be Obeyed who declared “I don’t care if you’re hyper or hypo, I will still love you”. Which was nice but didn’t stop me trying to remember which way I should slash my wrists to be totally effective. But then I decided I would find out the answer to that tomorrow because I needed a nice little nap first.

Thyroids suck, and it’s two more weeks before I visit the doctor again.

What the hell are you two so happy about?

I am sure Songkran is a joyous occasion in many parts of Thailand; but in Pattaya it sucks.

If you are in Bangkok, or almost anywhere else, there are a couple of days of soaked chaos and then life gets back to normal. Unfortunately, the official day of mayhem in Pattaya is not until the 19th; long after everywhere else has dried out and gone back to work. Some people use this as an excuse to chuck water around for eight days or more.

I have no problem with the day itself. If you venture outdoors on the 19th, you are going to get wet; and I have done just that in previous years. Armed with a waterproof camera and a change of clothes in the car, I have wandered the streets of Pattaya and had a good time.

The problem comes in the week before the official day. The vast majority of the people in Pattaya just want/need to get on with normal life during this period; but their are a small army of dickheads who are determined to fuck up things for their own enjoyment. And the embarrassing thing is that these dickheads are mainly foreigners.

Of course there are some Thais playing early too. There is a gang of small kids splashing water in my soi; but they can be easily avoided or, as a last resort, run over. And if you demonstrate to the Thais that you are nicely dressed and not really up for a soaking at this time, they will leave you alone.

Not so the inbred, tattooed, fuckwits that take up station outside the bars on walking street, Beach road and second road. To them, this is Songkran and everyone is a target; irrespective of the willingness of their victims.

Yesterday, in the space of a few hundred yards, I saw incidents that made my blood boil. First, an old couple, smartly dressed, walking down the road minding their own business; until the arseholes outside a bar tipped a bucket of water over them. The old lady was soaked and close to tears, the old gentleman was shaking with anger. Their attackers just laughed.

A little further down the road a Thai lady on a motorbike was going or coming from work; smartly dressed in some kind of uniform. Drenched and mocked; her impression of foreigners was forever ruined.

And finally a young couple with a baby in a pushchair. All three soaked, pushchair awash and baby screaming.

I have nothing but contempt for these scum; but as I am an ancient, weedy wimp, there is not much I can do about it. But I do wish them a face-full of faeces infested water at some point in the proceedings. Meantime, I shall continue avoiding all public places (including on the 19th as I no longer have a waterproof camera); until this Songkran nonsense is over.

This kid dampened my T-shirt. Five years on and they have yet to find his body.

In my self-appointed role as international gadget consumer extraordinaire, I have occasion to purchase vital items from overseas.

Sometimes these come via ordinary mail, which can involve a delay as the local post office gets its arse in gear before eventually sending me a tiny piece of paper informing me that my goods have arrived. I then hurry down to the shrine of parcels, pay some duty, and pick up my toy.

More often, I pay the extra for a courier service. This usually results in a knock on my door about 3-4 days after I place the order, and the knocker is a pleasant chap from the courier company who hands me my package in exchange for customs duty. It’s an extraordinarily efficient service and, I think, reasonable for the level of service provided.

And I was expecting that level of service when I received advice that my latest “must have” had left the UK and was heading this way courtesy of TNT.

On the 9th April the tracking information indicated that my parcel was sat in Bangkok airport and was “Held Customs, Awaiting Clearance Instructions From Receiver”.

Receiver, that should be TNT, but when the status had not changed the following day, I called their customer service line on the evening of the 10th. A charming lady answered and said she would take my phone number and someone would call me back the following morning. Excellent, let’s see what the following morning would bring.

The morning of the 10th April brought many things but it didn’t bring a call from TNT. So at 11:10 I called them again.

Aha, said a similarly charming lady, we can’t process your package because we don’t have your phone number.
I gave it to you yesterday, check your computer.
Oh. Well, I will transfer you to Khun Chantana at the airport, she is dealing with your item.

There was a click and I was put on hold and subjected to endless recorded nonsense about the wonderful TNT service. After seven minutes of waiting it was clear that nothing was going to happen, so I hung up.

At 11:26 I called again and yet another charming lady answered. I explained my problem.
Let me transfer you to Khun Chantana at the airport….
I explained we had just tried that.
Oh. OK well I will make sure someone calls you back within the hour.

Nobody called me back within the hour. I searched their website and found a contact form; filled it with the story so far and sent it off.

At 13:14 I picked up the phone and another charming lady answered the phone. TNT must have a well-staffed customer service helpline; just a shame that providing customer service is not on their priority list.
I explained my problem.
Let me transfer you to Khun Chantana at the airport.
I explained what happened last time. She transferred me anyway.
Five minutes of TNT platitudes and I had had enough, Khun Chantana was not going to answer her phone.

At 13:20, with a heavy sigh I dialled customer service again. The next in line of charmers answered.
Got the “we don’t have your phone number” story again.
I asked her to check my account. She read off my phone number.
So, you do have it.
Yes.
Now what?
Someone will call you back.
I went through the events of the day, amazingly without losing my temper.
I will elevate to the supervisor and they will call you back within one hour.

You would be amazed to learn that, 34 minutes later, the supervisor called back. So would I, because they didn’t. Nobody. Nothing. Nada. Bastards.

Now it is 14:45 I am realising that this may never get resolved, but it is developing into a blog post; so I resolve to call them every hour for ever. So I call again and the latest cutie tells me that this matter has been escalated (escalation presumably not involving informing the customer). As a result, someone WILL call me back within fifteen minutes. Guaranteed. Bet your life on it.

And? Yep, you guessed. Nothing.

So the current tally was four promises to return my call not actioned and two futile attempts to transfer me to someone who apparently knew what was going on. The TNT slogan is “Sure we can”; that presumably does not extend to providing any form of customer service.

And then, at 15:41, a call from TNT!! But not a late fulfilment of the four customer services promises; instead it Khun Pongsak who is an operations supervisor who has seen my contact form message, and decided to do something about it.

He tells me that customs are holding my parcel until they get a copy of my passport. I have no idea why this particular shipment needs a copy of my passport; I have never,ever faced this issue before. Still, investigation can wait and I send my new friend a passport copy.

This morning the status has changed to “Held By Customs, Awaiting Payment Of Duties/taxes By Receiver”, a process that Khun Pornsak tells me can take 2-3 days to massage through customs; and customs disappear for their Songkran holiday as from tomorrow…..

So, had the parcel come with Fedex, it would have been in my hot little hands on or before 9th April. Thanks to TNT and whatever pathetic, and no doubt cheap, process they use, it’s probably going to be at least another week.

Never mind, I can wait; at least Khun Pongsak tried to help; unlike the total waste of space and phone time that is the TNT Thailand customer support line, motto: “Sure we can, but we won’t”.