Two skint fatties behind the counter of an underpaid job without a future, watching every farang walk past with a wallet thrice as fat as their monthly wage, and you decided you were the lucky one. They smile at every bloke who walks up, mate, that is called customer service in Thailand, not destiny. Some wet behind the ears chap on his first trip to Thailand mistakes basic politeness for a cosmic sign, and out of the hundreds of tourists they serve every year, you convinced yourself you are the irresistible exception. Bold of you, in a shop seeing fifty farangs a day, to assume the universe singled you out. Then the girl's mate starts asking about your girlfriend status like she is doing market research, because she is. Once they thought you had one, they looked disappointed, the way an appliance salesman at HomePro looks disappointed when you say you aren't buying a new refrigerator today. The 1000cc bike story is the masterpiece. Completely normal for a girl working a tea counter to own a motorcycle worth at least roughly five or six years of her salary before spending a single baht on food, rent, or anything else. Either she is a secretly wealthy heiress moonlighting at a tea stand for shizz and giggles, or she clocked immediately that you are the type of tosser who hears “1000cc” and pictures a Ducati instead of picturing yourself as a meal ticket. My money is squarely on the latter. Keep telling yourself they were overwhelmed by raw magnetic attraction. It is more comforting than admitting you were sized up, priced, and filed away as an easy mark before you finished your first cuppa. You built an entire romantic theory out of two women doing their jobs, and the delusional version flattering you most is the one you fully imagined. Funny how that works.
