Charity Sometimes Faileth (Volume 1)

Like any great Mark Twain story this one starts on a river boat. I was journeying home after a long day at the archives, every muscle exhausted from sitting in a microfilm lab poring over Thai documents for a grueling three-and-a-half hours. (Hey, I'll be here for ten months, I have to ease my way into things.) On a long trip up the Chao Phrya river there's little for a man to do except think...and perspire.

As I prepared to get out at the Nonthaburi pier, I saw a face that I recognized - or rather one that recognized me. Ton, who works at the National Library and is responsible for helping me find and view micorfilm happened to be on the same boat and exiting at the same pier. So, he asked me where I live and how I was getting home. I replied that I would just grab a taxi that would take me to my apartment in Nichada. Thais always want to know details, and its a little embarassing to explain how one travels, lives, eats, etc. Even though a taxi ride is not a lot of money is US dollars, for a Thai it seems very extravagant to take one every day.

"No, no, no" he said, "You don't want to do that. It's much too expensive, you should save your money. Taxis are only for emergencies, like when it rains. I'll show you something much cheaper and just as good."

I was trying to think of a way to explain that I had a travel budget that would reimburse me, and that I'd rather be wasting money and home with my family than sitting in a van with strangers and saving it, but before I could think of the word in Thai for 'budget' he had grabbed me by the arm and was pulling me off the pier and into the cul-de-sac where buses, taxies, vans, and all manner of street vendors were waiting to sell their wares. For a people that don't like confrontation, Thais can be amazing direct and forceful when they think they're helping you, or when they want your money. I once had a driver grab me and try to pull me into his tuk-tuk. Even though the guy was half my size I had a hard time getting free.

"You need to start taking commuter vans," Ton said as he pulled me from one passenger van to another, looking for one that went up to Pak Kret. "It would probably be only 20 Baht to get to Pak Kret, instead of 80 that you would pay for a taxi."

"Would it take me all the way to my apartment?" I asked, looking for any excuse to escape my Good Samaritan and be on my way. I was tired, I was hot, and I'd had enough experiences with Thai 'travel solutions' to know that they rarely solved anything.

"No," he replied, "But it will drop you off close enough that you can just jump on a motorcycle for another ten baht and he'll get you home." Oh, what a relief. Motorcyles were always off-limits for missionaries because they're all driven by Red-Bull drinking guys with a death wish. Sometimes, when a city bus rolls by, if you look real close you can see the remains of a motorcycle taxi plastered all over grill. But, how to explain this to Ton? I started flipping through my dictionary for the translation of 'giant wuss'. My trip home was looking better and better all the time.

Within a few seconds, Ton had found the commuter van going to Pak Kret and was working out a price with the driver. "Okay, this guys going there and he'll take you for only ten baht - that's an incredible price! What do you say?" Both he and the driver stared at me with the anticipation of a child who shows you their drawing and is waiting for you to put it up on the fridge.

It was here that I made a critical tactical error. I factored in another person's feelings into my decision making process. Not having human emotions of my own, I rarely take into account other people's. And when I do it always ends in disaster, or at least some type of incovenience for me personally. But I knew Ton and I would be seeing a lot of each other in the future. I knew I would need his help. I wanted him to think that he had helped me. And so I did it. I got into the van. I knew it to be a mistake before they even opened the sliding door.