Green IslandBangkok Pulp Fiction Part One
February 3rd 2010 07:17
Bangkok Pulp Fiction
Rory was 21 and from Ireland. He had only two weeks left of his holiday before he had to use his return ticket to fly back to Dublin from Suvarnabhumi airport in Bangkok. Like many before him, he thought about how best he could use his available time and money. He pondered on what would benefit him for resuming his life back in Ireland. Bangkok was a shopping heaven. Everything was cheap, copyrighting laws had never been heard of and anything could be made to look like their expensive counterparts back home.
Over a lunch of chao mein swimming in grease he thought about his future. He had finished college nearly a year ago and had headed off to see America, Australia and South East Asia. Now all he had to his name was a few travellers’ cheques, a credit card bill to pay and a room back in his parent’s place in Port M. Ireland’s economy was in a woeful state. The country was reeling from staggering cuts to the public sector. He needed a job and quickly when he got back to pay off his credit card and move out of his parents’ house. He wanted to live with his mates in good old Dublin.
And then he had a brain storm. Why not buy a suit? There were plenty of tailors in Sukhimvit near where he was staying. They offered a new tailored suit with shirts for only 60 Euros. This seemed like a smashing idea to Rory. It would give him a head start on the search for employment. To his way of thinking it would no doubt give him the edge over the hundreds of other applicants he was bound to encounter in corporate reception areas.
Sukhimvit Road in Bangkok
So he strolled around the side streets off Sukhimvit and within 5 minutes he had been accosted by a really friendly chap from Nepal. He just couldn’t be friendlier and after a cold drink and a chat Rory was committed to buying a suit, a belt and 3 shirts for 80 Euros. He carefully studied the materials and styles and after a moment of inspiration settled on a green woolen single breasted suit. It was going to be the dogs. Sunneill the tailor took his measurements and a 20 Euros retainer and promised to work like the clappers to get the suit done in time.
After only two days the suit was ready for a first try on. It seemed a bit baggy in the arse and a bit long in the sleeve. From the pictures he had been shown, Rory had imagined less of a violent green. Sunneill allayed Rory’s concerns by explaining that this was only the first try on. It was always like this. A great suit came together at the last moment. Perfection was in the smallest tweaks. He would get his team to adjust the suit pants and jacket and naturally the wool dye hadn’t cured properly yet. When it did the suit would be of the subtlest and most desirable green.
Not without some doubts, Rory exited the tailor shop and went off for a day trip to Kanchanaburi to ride an elephant, go on a raft and see a fake bridge over the river Kwai.
Bridge Over the River Kwai
Two days later Rory marched into Sunneill’s shop. He struck his chin out defiantly and was prepared to either celebrate getting a great new suit or to set about complaining and demanding his 20 Euros back if the suit hadn’t been altered to his satisfaction. He was determined to reject the suit if the arms and legs were not of the correct lengths, and if he green colour of the suit in question hadn’t been muted by ‘curing’ to the hue he had thought so wonderful when he was flicking through the pictures of Savile Row styles.
On entering the shop Sunneill accosted Rory in a state of blissful supplication. Oh master’s suit was his masterpiece. He would make big stir in European business community with such a power suit and first he must meet Sunneill’s new wife. Rory had no time to harden his posture of displeasure because before he could set his features into a menacing frown he was thrust before a beautiful Thai woman. She was a wee thing of only 5 feet and a wee bit. She had wide set almond eyes that shone brightly at Rory. Her hair was a black silken waterfall that fell over her shoulders. She wore a tight traditional Thai costume that hugged the graceful curves of her body. She smiled at Rory as she was introduced and put her palms together in the Wa position and bowed her head in the sweetest submission as she said “Sawadee –ka”. Rory was all smiles and blushes.
Melee
For the next 20 minutes Sunneill talked incessantly in a fury of joy. He was so pleased with Rory’s suit; he was so delighted Rory could meet Melee, his so-so wife. He was just ecstatic with life. He insisted they go have lunch at a nearby Nepalese restaurant he knew. His cousin worked in the kitchen. They served the most authentic and tasty Nepalese food in Bangkok. How could Rory refuse, especially since Sunneill had promised that the meal was to be his treat.
Throughout the meal Melee held Rory’s attention. She was shy and yet she held his eye contact for what seemed eternities as she brokenly asked him about his family and his life back in Ireland. Sunneill encouraged the two to ‘get along’ while he ranted about his imminent rise in the tailor world. How he had already made suits for B-list celebs but was now ready for the A-list. Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise would surely soon be aware of his excellent tailoring and no doubt be super keen to get in their private jets and come to the obscure side road in Sukhimvit where his shop was located for a ‘magnificent fitting’. He postulated that they too would want a green woolen suit like Rory’s because, “Rory, my good friend Rory, your suit is my masterpiece”. Rory wasn’t listening; he was transfixed as Melee ate some strange fruit that made her full lips glisten.
Eventually they went back to the shop. Rory dodged this way and that to avoid the flow of people. Melee glided back, eyes down. Sunneill chatted voluminously about his future chain of discount suit shops in California manned by his legion of brothers and cousins.
shortly after getting a suit made in Bangkok George Bush Senior lost the election to Clinton
The three of them entered ‘Best European Fashion Suit’ and Melee disappeared somewhere into the depths of the back of the shop. Sunneill had a sly twinkle in his eye and asked if Rory cared for a good luck chillum.
“Uh yeah, why not.”
So Rory was whisked into a tiny store room full of boxes stacked against the walls. They sat on big cushions around a low table. Sunneill pulled out a lump of hash from his pocket and started breaking it up in his hand. He shouted out brusquely in some language Rory didn’t understand.
As he entered the final stages of packing the pipe that looked like a tapered phallus a young boy with a dirty white shirt and greasy black slacks arrived carrying a tray. He put the tray on the table and poured a milky substance from a great height from a big silver teapot into 2 small chipped glasses and then withdrew silently. Sunneill ignored him. Instead he was holding a lighted match over the pipe and sucking furiously. Clouds of thick white smoke billowed around Sunneill’s head as he got the chillum fired up. He then passed it to Rory.
Cloud of chillum smoke
Rory took a gentle suck and immediately the profuse and hot smoke made him cough. Sunneill smiled benignly as he took the chillum back and drew heartily. And so it went back and forth. Before he knew it Rory was stoned like he had never been before. Sure he had had joints with his mates back in Dublin and had got pleasantly mellow and loose tongued, but this stuff, even with his spluttering poor attempts on the pipe, had taken him to a new level entirely. The walls were closing in, the cardboard boxes held worlds in worlds of details as they pulsed like they had heart beats. Sunneill’s implacable face shone with quiet wisdom. Though he was sitting on the floor, Rory felt he was in danger of falling down. He clutched at the cushion as sweat dribbled off his nose.
The silence was pierced by the noise of a dog barking off in the distance. Sunneill suddenly came out of his reverie and clapped his hands loudly.
Melee entered from the door leading to the shop carrying a suit in a plastic protective bag. She helped Rory to his feet and helped him undress. Rory swayed slightly and would have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so preternaturally stoned. He caught himself leaving his body and studying himself in his white Calvin Klein’s and T-shirt.
Not knowing what to expect next, he was handed a white shirt by Sunneill. He now grasped what was happening to him. He was going to try on the fabled new green woolen suit. He stumbled back and forth as he went on one leg to put on the suit trousers. They seemed different to the pair he had tried on a couple of days back. Now they were tight around the arse and snug in the groin. The trouser ends were flared, flapping and hanging in folds at the floor. Melee helped him put on a green silk tie and then the suit jacket. The sleeves finished just before his wrist joint. His feet were slipped expertly into a pair of shinny black lace less shoes. And so he was dressed. Melee withdrew again through a different door into the nether regions behind the shop. Sunneill beamed with satisfaction and lead Rory into the shop and stopped in front of a full length mirror.
Rory couldn’t be sure but the curing process seemed to have made the green a lighter more luminous colour, the colour of fluorescent snot. The fit was a masterpiece of too tight and too baggy, too short and too long. The trousers dragged on the ground as he walked past the mirror to check his profile. He wanted to complain but he was struggling to stand up. Sunneill kindly explained that the suit was perfect. The curing had never in his experience been known to have come out so well. The cut was the latest Savile Row rage. Rory-ji might not fully appreciate it now, but once he had worn the suit on a few occasions and had it dry cleaned he would understand just how devastatingly perfect the suit was. No where would a better cut jib be found.
And because Sunneill was in such a good mood he would sell Rory some of his hash for a bargain price and throw in the shoes and tie for free.
Rory signed a travellers’ cheque for 100 Euros and left the shop clutching a hanger with his suit and two bags holding his shirts, belt, shoes and tie. In the green suit jacket pocket was the sticky lump of hash he hadn’t really wanted. The silent boy who had served tea walked sedately next to him to make sure he got back to his hotel safely.
At the entrance to the Sawadee Welcome Hotel the boy stopped and turned to face Rory. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Rory and then vanished into the passing throng of humanity.
Rory made a supreme effort to appear normal as he asked the man on reception for the key to his room. He walked in what he hoped was a straight line to the elevator. Minutes later he was lying in his underpants, splayed out on his bed, dribbling and sleeping a dreamless sleep.
Green Suit
Images:
1) Bridge Over the River Kwai from Wikipedia.org
2) Samuel L Jackson from www.thesahara.info
3) Green Suit from www.offbeatbride.com
4) George Bush Senior really did buy a Bangkok suit read about it at www.suniltheguy.blogspot.com
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