A Fable of Woe from the Fraught Streets of Pattaya

[SoCal1990]

Another satirical tribute in fond memory of the original, hapless, Bob Smith. His waylaid wisdom is greatly missed, wherever his rugged adventures may now be taking him…

 

Alright, lads, gather ‘round, cause I need to vent, yet again. Last night was meant to be one for the books. My old mate Gary-the-Gimp is back in town from Birmingham, so we did what any respectable, upstanding pair of English country gentlemen would do, we hit Soi 6 for a few cold bevies and a bit of cultural, happy-ending enrichment.

 

Started off alright, a few frosty tins at a loud, packed bar, some fun and games, rubbed up against much of the local female talent, some of them ladyboys, Gimps doesn't mind them, and you know how it goes (I boom boom you, ok?). Nothing too crazy, just a respectable night out between two fine, worldly, British scholars sharing knowledge. Meanwhile, after we’d had our fill of fraternizing with all the happy slappers, we decided to call it a night like the responsible, posh blokes that we are. Gimps stumbles off in one direction for his hotel with his wife-of-the-night in tow, and I, alone, tapped out, and in my infinite Asian-old-hand wisdom, head to the end of Soi 6/1 by Second Road to hop a motorbike taxi and quickly get back home to the eagerly awaiting mrs. smith.

 

And that’s where the night took a harrowing sharp turn.

 

I grab one of these helmetless hooligans, tell him where I live (clearly and politely, IN THAI, mind you), I know he at least understood when I said the second word in the name of my apt block "Mansion" because he repeated it back to me "Mann-Chunnn!". Then I hopped on the back and well, lads, let me tell you, I might as well have signed up for a zip-line wedgie. This absolute lunatic, prolly on meth, wearing only flip-flops and loose, baggy, football trousers, took off like he was being chased by the village headman. Zero regard for potholes, speed bumps, or human life. Every time we hit a divot, I felt my spine pop itself back out again. At one point, I swear we caught air. It was like racing in the sidecar division at the TT Races over on the Isle innit. I’m gripping on for dear life, internally drafting my own obituary, thinking, “This is it, this is how the great bob smith taps out and leaves this earth with a smear, splattered across Pattaya Second Road like a poorly made kebab with lots of extra ketchup.”

 

Then, to top it all off, the plonker takes me to the wrong apartment block. I glance down at the shiny, new Rolex on my wrist, it's already 2:20 am, and I tell him, “No, mate, not this mansion.” The geezer just laughs at me, turns around, and speeds off again, taking me on another scenic detour, this time through half of the abandoned buildings on Third Road. By the time we finally get to MY flat on the backside of Buakhao, I’m shaken, battered, and questioning every life decision that ever led me to this moment.

 

And THEN, oh, and get this, the best part of it all, the little rice-rocket-jockey tries to fleece me. 

 

The ride should’ve been 60 baht max. The git knows it. I know it. He tells me 200.

 

200 BATH!?

 

That much for a journey that nearly ended in my untimely demise and almost had me doing my shorts into a state? And for the mere pleasure of having my internal organs rearranged?

 

I tell him “Mate, you’re having a laugh.” He starts getting shirty, raising his voice, acting like I’m an unreasonable Cheap-Charlie. At this point, I’m knackered, butt-bruised from the ride, half snookered from all the Leo, and I’m not about to get into a street scuffle with a 5-foot-nothing Somchai in front of my flat over a mere 140 baht grift attempt. So I throw the arse-hat 100 just to get rid of the tosser, and he speeds off shouting "farang key-nok", probably to go on to terrorize another poor, drunken sod.

 

So, I ask you, boys, is it just me? Or has basic decency already gone out the window here in The Land of Smiles? You try to support the locals, buy their services, spread the quid around, try to do things right for the struggling and working classes of this country, in a dignified way, with kindness and politeness, and this is the treatment you get? No manners, no respect, just outright piss-taking??? Really???

 

sigh

bob.

[jimmybcool]

Fun times.  And you are braver than I getting on 2 wheels in this town full of drunk and incompetent drivers.  🤣

[flyingtlger]

Reading your previous post as well this one, it sounds like you attract trouble....

[simon43]

Did you ask the price for the journey before you got on the bike?  No?  You're still wet behind the ears... 🙂

[Liverpool Lou]

3 hours ago, simon43 said:

Did you ask the price for the journey before you got on the bike?  No?  You're still wet behind the ears... 🙂

What are you asking him that for?  It's a made up story about what he imagines could happen to "Bob Smith"!

[Liverpool Lou]

4 hours ago, jimmybcool said:

Fun times.  And you are braver than I getting on 2 wheels in this town full of drunk and incompetent drivers.  🤣

He didn't.  It's a fairy tale about what "Bob Smith" didn't do, either, just the OP's bizarre imagination.

[ColeBOzbourne]

OP's story was too long to read. Could somebody have AI summarize it for us? 

[Moonlover]

2 minutes ago, ColeBOzbourne said:

OP's story was too long to read. Could somebody have AI summarize it for us? 

Don't bother yourself. It will still be the same unmitigated crap!

[blaze master]

Seems the OP has a boner for bob. 

[potless]

Use a taxi app. At least you have some metal around you and a low price to boot.

[CharlieH]

I kind of figure you got more enjoyment out of writing about it than experiencing it. 

 

For those who dont  like long stories......

 

A night out in Pattaya took a wild turn when the writer’s motorbike taxi ride home became a near-death experience. After a lively evening on Soi 6 with a visiting friend, he hopped on a helmetless driver’s bike, only to endure a reckless, high-speed ride filled with pothole-induced whiplash.

To make matters worse, the driver took him to the wrong apartment, then tried to overcharge him—demanding 200 baht for a 60-baht ride. Too exhausted to argue, he settled on 100 baht and questioned whether basic decency in Thailand’s nightlife scene is disappearing.

 

 

[HappyExpat57]

2 hours ago, blaze master said:

Seems the OP has a boner for bob. 

Bob knew how to spell "baht."

[EVENKEEL]

Complete tosh. Mrs Smith was with me.

[nauseus]

1 hour ago, EVENKEEL said:

Complete tosh. Mrs Smith was with me.

 

Was that after she'd done Gary?

[KannikaP]

11 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

200 BATH!?

How long have you been in LOS? What's the currency?

[Negita43]

Maybe you are Bob?

[Harrisfan]

13 hours ago, SoCal1990 said:

Another satirical tribute in fond memory of the original, hapless, Bob Smith. His waylaid wisdom is greatly missed, wherever his rugged adventures may now be taking him…

 

Alright, lads, gather ‘round, cause I need to vent, yet again. Last night was meant to be one for the books. My old mate Gary-the-Gimp is back in town from Birmingham, so we did what any respectable, upstanding pair of English country gentlemen would do, we hit Soi 6 for a few cold bevies and a bit of cultural, happy-ending enrichment.

 

Started off alright, a few frosty tins at a loud, packed bar, some fun and games, rubbed up against much of the local female talent, some of them ladyboys, Gimps doesn't mind them, and you know how it goes (I boom boom you, ok?). Nothing too crazy, just a respectable night out between two fine, worldly, British scholars sharing knowledge. Meanwhile, after we’d had our fill of fraternizing with all the happy slappers, we decided to call it a night like the responsible, posh blokes that we are. Gimps stumbles off in one direction for his hotel with his wife-of-the-night in tow, and I, alone, tapped out, and in my infinite Asian-old-hand wisdom, head to the end of Soi 6/1 by Second Road to hop a motorbike taxi and quickly get back home to the eagerly awaiting mrs. smith.

 

And that’s where the night took a harrowing sharp turn.

 

I grab one of these helmetless hooligans, tell him where I live (clearly and politely, IN THAI, mind you), I know he at least understood when I said the second word in the name of my apt block "Mansion" because he repeated it back to me "Mann-Chunnn!". Then I hopped on the back and well, lads, let me tell you, I might as well have signed up for a zip-line wedgie. This absolute lunatic, prolly on meth, wearing only flip-flops and loose, baggy, football trousers, took off like he was being chased by the village headman. Zero regard for potholes, speed bumps, or human life. Every time we hit a divot, I felt my spine pop itself back out again. At one point, I swear we caught air. It was like racing in the sidecar division at the TT Races over on the Isle innit. I’m gripping on for dear life, internally drafting my own obituary, thinking, “This is it, this is how the great bob smith taps out and leaves this earth with a smear, splattered across Pattaya Second Road like a poorly made kebab with lots of extra ketchup.”

 

Then, to top it all off, the plonker takes me to the wrong apartment block. I glance down at the shiny, new Rolex on my wrist, it's already 2:20 am, and I tell him, “No, mate, not this mansion.” The geezer just laughs at me, turns around, and speeds off again, taking me on another scenic detour, this time through half of the abandoned buildings on Third Road. By the time we finally get to MY flat on the backside of Buakhao, I’m shaken, battered, and questioning every life decision that ever led me to this moment.

 

And THEN, oh, and get this, the best part of it all, the little rice-rocket-jockey tries to fleece me. 

 

The ride should’ve been 60 baht max. The git knows it. I know it. He tells me 200.

 

200 BATH!?

 

That much for a journey that nearly ended in my untimely demise and almost had me doing my shorts into a state? And for the mere pleasure of having my internal organs rearranged?

 

I tell him “Mate, you’re having a laugh.” He starts getting shirty, raising his voice, acting like I’m an unreasonable Cheap-Charlie. At this point, I’m knackered, butt-bruised from the ride, half snookered from all the Leo, and I’m not about to get into a street scuffle with a 5-foot-nothing Somchai in front of my flat over a mere 140 baht grift attempt. So I throw the arse-hat 100 just to get rid of the tosser, and he speeds off shouting "farang key-nok", probably to go on to terrorize another poor, drunken sod.

 

So, I ask you, boys, is it just me? Or has basic decency already gone out the window here in The Land of Smiles? You try to support the locals, buy their services, spread the quid around, try to do things right for the struggling and working classes of this country, in a dignified way, with kindness and politeness, and this is the treatment you get? No manners, no respect, just outright piss-taking??? Really???

 

sigh

bob.

Can't understand any of it. 

[Screaming]

"MY flat on the backside of Buakhao" Another quality ex-pat.

[save the frogs]

1 hour ago, Negita43 said:

Maybe you are Bob?

My theory is OP has been "possessed by bob".

Any exorcists on AN?

 

[Liverpool Lou]

8 hours ago, CharlieH said:

I kind of figure you got more enjoyment out of writing about it than experiencing it. 

 

For those who dont  like long stories......

 

A night out in Pattaya took a wild turn when the writer’s motorbike taxi ride home became a near-death experience. After a lively evening on Soi 6 with a visiting friend, he hopped on a helmetless driver’s bike, only to endure a reckless, high-speed ride filled with pothole-induced whiplash.

To make matters worse, the driver took him to the wrong apartment, then tried to overcharge him—demanding 200 baht for a 60-baht ride. Too exhausted to argue, he settled on 100 baht and questioned whether basic decency in Thailand’s nightlife scene is disappearing.

 

 

"A night out in Pattaya took a wild turn when the writer’s motorbike taxi ride home became a near-death experience".

 

Huh?  The writer did not experience anything, the OP is a made up fantasy story about what the author thinks "Bob Smith" experienced;  it is all in the OP's mind, none of it happened....

"Another satirical tribute in fond memory of the original, hapless, Bob Smith".

[RT555]

.....I was leaving Nana Plaza one late night and figured my two left feet probably couldn't get me near Terminal 21, so I walked over to the taxi motorcycle gang (to which I would occasionally bring over an assortment of satay, which they all knew me.). Luckily they tied a rope to the driver and away we went.

I definitely would have fell off the bike and smashed my head...so it's always smart to take care of some of the people you always pass..coz U might need some help one day..

 

[Smokey and the Bandit]

On 2/16/2025 at 4:56 AM, SoCal1990 said:

Another satirical tribute in fond memory of the original, hapless, Bob Smith. His waylaid wisdom is greatly missed, wherever his rugged adventures may now be taking him…

 

Alright, lads, gather ‘round, cause I need to vent, yet again. Last night was meant to be one for the books. My old mate Gary-the-Gimp is back in town from Birmingham, so we did what any respectable, upstanding pair of English country gentlemen would do, we hit Soi 6 for a few cold bevies and a bit of cultural, happy-ending enrichment.

 

Started off alright, a few frosty tins at a loud, packed bar, some fun and games, rubbed up against much of the local female talent, some of them ladyboys, Gimps doesn't mind them, and you know how it goes (I boom boom you, ok?). Nothing too crazy, just a respectable night out between two fine, worldly, British scholars sharing knowledge. Meanwhile, after we’d had our fill of fraternizing with all the happy slappers, we decided to call it a night like the responsible, posh blokes that we are. Gimps stumbles off in one direction for his hotel with his wife-of-the-night in tow, and I, alone, tapped out, and in my infinite Asian-old-hand wisdom, head to the end of Soi 6/1 by Second Road to hop a motorbike taxi and quickly get back home to the eagerly awaiting mrs. smith.

 

And that’s where the night took a harrowing sharp turn.

 

I grab one of these helmetless hooligans, tell him where I live (clearly and politely, IN THAI, mind you), I know he at least understood when I said the second word in the name of my apt block "Mansion" because he repeated it back to me "Mann-Chunnn!". Then I hopped on the back and well, lads, let me tell you, I might as well have signed up for a zip-line wedgie. This absolute lunatic, prolly on meth, wearing only flip-flops and loose, baggy, football trousers, took off like he was being chased by the village headman. Zero regard for potholes, speed bumps, or human life. Every time we hit a divot, I felt my spine pop itself back out again. At one point, I swear we caught air. It was like racing in the sidecar division at the TT Races over on the Isle innit. I’m gripping on for dear life, internally drafting my own obituary, thinking, “This is it, this is how the great bob smith taps out and leaves this earth with a smear, splattered across Pattaya Second Road like a poorly made kebab with lots of extra ketchup.”

 

Then, to top it all off, the plonker takes me to the wrong apartment block. I glance down at the shiny, new Rolex on my wrist, it's already 2:20 am, and I tell him, “No, mate, not this mansion.” The geezer just laughs at me, turns around, and speeds off again, taking me on another scenic detour, this time through half of the abandoned buildings on Third Road. By the time we finally get to MY flat on the backside of Buakhao, I’m shaken, battered, and questioning every life decision that ever led me to this moment.

 

And THEN, oh, and get this, the best part of it all, the little rice-rocket-jockey tries to fleece me. 

 

The ride should’ve been 60 baht max. The git knows it. I know it. He tells me 200.

 

200 BATH!?

 

That much for a journey that nearly ended in my untimely demise and almost had me doing my shorts into a state? And for the mere pleasure of having my internal organs rearranged?

 

I tell him “Mate, you’re having a laugh.” He starts getting shirty, raising his voice, acting like I’m an unreasonable Cheap-Charlie. At this point, I’m knackered, butt-bruised from the ride, half snookered from all the Leo, and I’m not about to get into a street scuffle with a 5-foot-nothing Somchai in front of my flat over a mere 140 baht grift attempt. So I throw the arse-hat 100 just to get rid of the tosser, and he speeds off shouting "farang key-nok", probably to go on to terrorize another poor, drunken sod.

 

So, I ask you, boys, is it just me? Or has basic decency already gone out the window here in The Land of Smiles? You try to support the locals, buy their services, spread the quid around, try to do things right for the struggling and working classes of this country, in a dignified way, with kindness and politeness, and this is the treatment you get? No manners, no respect, just outright piss-taking??? Really???

 

sigh

bob.

Do you speak ENGLISH?????

[hotandsticky]

11 hours ago, Screaming said:

"MY flat on the backside of Buakhao" Another quality ex-pat.

 

 

Have you actually seen some apartments off the soi Buakhao area..........................or are you just being judgemental.

[rumeaug]

Thais don't give a rat's A**hole about foreigners as long as they get the dough. It's a mirage in the desert and you might end up dying of thirst as there is no Oasis. Cheers

[RayOday]

A mildly amusing story of everyday life on a mototaxi.

One nitpicking point. You may be referring to a Lumpini champion but the diminutive Muay Thai fighter that is the GOAT is Saenchai. 

We all have our near death occurrence on a mototaxi. My life was spared by literally 2 cm when we were almost "T-boned" by a car. The mototaxi was at a red light and properly stopped, so not at fault.

[Denim]

On 2/16/2025 at 4:56 AM, SoCal1990 said:

So, I ask you, boys, is it just me?

 

Yes Bob. It's just you. Nobody else. Only you.

[Colabamumbai]

On 2/16/2025 at 4:56 AM, SoCal1990 said:

Another satirical tribute in fond memory of the original, hapless, Bob Smith. His waylaid wisdom is greatly missed, wherever his rugged adventures may now be taking him…

 

Alright, lads, gather ‘round, cause I need to vent, yet again. Last night was meant to be one for the books. My old mate Gary-the-Gimp is back in town from Birmingham, so we did what any respectable, upstanding pair of English country gentlemen would do, we hit Soi 6 for a few cold bevies and a bit of cultural, happy-ending enrichment.

 

Started off alright, a few frosty tins at a loud, packed bar, some fun and games, rubbed up against much of the local female talent, some of them ladyboys, Gimps doesn't mind them, and you know how it goes (I boom boom you, ok?). Nothing too crazy, just a respectable night out between two fine, worldly, British scholars sharing knowledge. Meanwhile, after we’d had our fill of fraternizing with all the happy slappers, we decided to call it a night like the responsible, posh blokes that we are. Gimps stumbles off in one direction for his hotel with his wife-of-the-night in tow, and I, alone, tapped out, and in my infinite Asian-old-hand wisdom, head to the end of Soi 6/1 by Second Road to hop a motorbike taxi and quickly get back home to the eagerly awaiting mrs. smith.

 

And that’s where the night took a harrowing sharp turn.

 

I grab one of these helmetless hooligans, tell him where I live (clearly and politely, IN THAI, mind you), I know he at least understood when I said the second word in the name of my apt block "Mansion" because he repeated it back to me "Mann-Chunnn!". Then I hopped on the back and well, lads, let me tell you, I might as well have signed up for a zip-line wedgie. This absolute lunatic, prolly on meth, wearing only flip-flops and loose, baggy, football trousers, took off like he was being chased by the village headman. Zero regard for potholes, speed bumps, or human life. Every time we hit a divot, I felt my spine pop itself back out again. At one point, I swear we caught air. It was like racing in the sidecar division at the TT Races over on the Isle innit. I’m gripping on for dear life, internally drafting my own obituary, thinking, “This is it, this is how the great bob smith taps out and leaves this earth with a smear, splattered across Pattaya Second Road like a poorly made kebab with lots of extra ketchup.”

 

Then, to top it all off, the plonker takes me to the wrong apartment block. I glance down at the shiny, new Rolex on my wrist, it's already 2:20 am, and I tell him, “No, mate, not this mansion.” The geezer just laughs at me, turns around, and speeds off again, taking me on another scenic detour, this time through half of the abandoned buildings on Third Road. By the time we finally get to MY flat on the backside of Buakhao, I’m shaken, battered, and questioning every life decision that ever led me to this moment.

 

And THEN, oh, and get this, the best part of it all, the little rice-rocket-jockey tries to fleece me. 

 

The ride should’ve been 60 baht max. The git knows it. I know it. He tells me 200.

 

200 BATH!?

 

That much for a journey that nearly ended in my untimely demise and almost had me doing my shorts into a state? And for the mere pleasure of having my internal organs rearranged?

 

I tell him “Mate, you’re having a laugh.” He starts getting shirty, raising his voice, acting like I’m an unreasonable Cheap-Charlie. At this point, I’m knackered, butt-bruised from the ride, half snookered from all the Leo, and I’m not about to get into a street scuffle with a 5-foot-nothing Somchai in front of my flat over a mere 140 baht grift attempt. So I throw the arse-hat 100 just to get rid of the tosser, and he speeds off shouting "farang key-nok", probably to go on to terrorize another poor, drunken sod.

 

So, I ask you, boys, is it just me? Or has basic decency already gone out the window here in The Land of Smiles? You try to support the locals, buy their services, spread the quid around, try to do things right for the struggling and working classes of this country, in a dignified way, with kindness and politeness, and this is the treatment you get? No manners, no respect, just outright piss-taking??? Really???

 

sigh

bob.

Well Bob, the older one becomes the less they want to be around others. 

[newnative]

Walk it off.  You'll live.