Do things like this ever happen to you in Thailand?

I hear this loud grunting just outside my door. But I don’t look. The landlord’s son-in-law, Fatso (Uan), is visiting from Bangkok and has been lurking about, and I have no desire to talk with him. He’s an arrogant man who believes he’s Hi-So (well, actually he is) but also believes all guavas are stupid.

Anyway, next I hear thick sloshing. I know that sound. I also know his hands are baby-butt soft. So something doesn’t jibe.

I take a peek. There’s not more than ten feet between our houses and the water well is smack-dab centered. But it’s old and a few inches below grade and the cap is crappy and debris washes in with every rain.

Uncle Kee, my landlord, is a hard worker even at ninety. He has rough and manly hands, and beaucoup baht. If Fatso fixes things up with a bit of manual labor, maybe he’ll be assured a stake in father-in-law’s substantial will. This is a good thing, because Fatso has already blown through his own late father’s millions, in record time.

I see Fatso has moved the meter-wide concrete cap aside, and is stacking cement around the edge of the well’s topmost cement ring. Leveling it out to later place the cap back six inches above the ground, nice and level.

Good idea.

What can go wrong?

Nothing. I am a positive thinker.

Fatso finishes and packs up. I step outside and mention, “Lots of little kids run through here all day, it’s their shortcut.”

He turns back, examines me head to toe while he ponders his response, and comes up with, “Mai pen rai, Thai children very smart.” He grins big, turns away and leaves.

I like the local kids. Including the ones who aren’t actually very smart. So I arrange a few red plastic chairs around the well. But Fatso must have been looking from a window, because he immediately stomps from the house, glares at me, then strides off. He comes back a minute later and tosses away the chairs and covers the well.

With a roll of green screen.

Now, I don’t know about you, but green screen at ground level, surrounded by green grass, is what I call …

… camouflage. And unless you are a mosquito, it’s not usually considered weight-bearing.

He eye-daggers me, daring me to put the chairs back. I don’t. He goes in the house. I shrug and go in mine.

Where not ten minutes later, opening wide for a bite of Dagwood sandwich, I hear one big splash. I drop the Dagwood and rush out the door. Lots of splashing now, and crying.

I kneel and look into the darkness and there she is. Four years old and splashing about with wide eyes. But she’s far out of reach twelve feet below. She goes under. Comes up. Goes under. Comes up. One more time and it’s thirty feet to the bottom. And I can’t stroke straight down in a meter wide opening. She’ll die. End of story.

I yell at the woman next door who’s just standing there watching. Empty my pockets, strip off my shirt, hang over the side, and drop, hoping I don’t hit her.

Well water is cold.

I hear running footsteps and yelling. People responding to my hue and cry. I bridge myself across the well, and Pepsi drags herself up onto my lap.

Yes, a lot of Thai mongrels are named Pepsi, but this Pepsi is the beloved mutt of Fatso’s wife. She’s about fifty pounds, twenty of which is hair and claws, because neither have ever been trimmed. Pepsi’s, not Fatso’s wife.

The sides of the cement well are grinding at my spinal column and the soles of my feet. Pepsi is clawing my belly and chest with front legs, and my crotch with her spastic right rear leg, which can’t quite get a grip. I yell louder. More like screaming, actually.

Then everything goes dark.

I look up. There’s a handful of women blocking sunlight, staring down.

One says, What you do?

I say in English, I’m looking for my elephant, you stupid @*%@.

Then I say in Thai, Get rope.

Another takes out her cell phone. I start to say I can’t wait for the police or rescue, but she’s just snapping photos.

A third woman says, How you fall in well? And, why take dog?

So I look into intelligent eyes. Pepsi gazes back. Until people kick clods of half-cured cement on our heads. Now Pepsi’s claws draw blood from a nipple. Mine. She sniffs, then starts to lick it. I smack Pepsi, and swear never to tell anyone I found it arousing.

I wipe cement from my face and look back up. The same people are still just standing there.

I say, Go get rope?

Pepsi is settling in for the afternoon, licking my nipple again. She looks up and says, Got any meat to go with this blood? I smack Pepsi.

Two minutes pass, no one has gone for rope. Pepsi’s mom arrives.

Thank goodness! I plead, Please go get rope.

Mom starts screaming and running around the well in circles, waving her arms. Again and again, calling, Pepsi! Pepsi! Pepsi! Someone help Pepsi!

Pepsi tries to climb out. I smack Pepsi.

I yell out, I’m cold.

Someone drops my shirt on my head. A nice gesture. Unfortunately, this is where I had rolled up my cellphone. To keep it safe and dry. For some reason, I wonder if the chemicals in it will pollute the water.

There’s enough people for a soccer game now. Uncle Kee’s wife pushes her way through to the ringside seats. She’s a smart lady. I beg, please go get rope.

Mrs. Kee nods and immediately vanishes.

Pepsi stretches her face towards the water when a dead frog surfaces. Apparently Pepsi has at some point in her life had a bad experience with frogs. Pepsi starts trying to climb higher again, rear leg gaining traction on my crotch. I smack Pepsi.

A minute later the two brothers from the motorcycle repair shop across the street peer over the edge. Dumb and Dumber have not, however, brought a rope.

They’ve brought an aluminum ladder. They try to it stuff down the well. Banging and scraping, terrifying Pepsi. My nipple flows like an expectant mother's. Even though they probably don’t know any curse words in English, Dumb and Dumber apparently lose face when I scream at them to stop. They go back to work. And they take their ladder. Petulant.

Then the man from next door arrives at the, oh, maybe seven or eight minute mark, just as my quads are cramping up. He just got voted into some office. I don’t know what office, only that he was number two. But he’s number one in my book now, because he has a rope.

Pepsi goes first.

The next day I’m in Tesco Express, wearing two shirts so the blood along my spine gets soaked up. One aisle over I hear disembodied laughing. They’re looking at photos on someone’s phone, and the story is being told of the guava who fell in a well, and the Thai Lassie that barked and barked, and saved his life.

EDIT: Font

Truly enjoyed this story. Thanks for giving me many laughs this AM.

Truly enjoyed this story. Thanks for giving me many laughs this AM.

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Glad you enjoyed it.

It's pretty darn funny now. But back then, when my legs were seizing up, there came a moment I thought I was going to die. If that guy from next door hadn't arrived ...

Enjoyable read....i will now read it again.

Enjoyable read....i will now read it again.

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Okay. But it ends the same.

All's well that ends well.

Great stuff.

Enjoyable read....i will now read it again.

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Okay. But it ends the same.

All's well that ends well.

Reading it the 2nd time.....laughed even more....very well written. Bravo.

Merry Xmas

Merry Xmas

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Well, thank you.

And a Merry Christmas to you, too.

"Do things like this ever happen to you in Thailand?"

Occasionally, but I can't spell.

Great reading. Merry Xmas.

PS.

Any chance of sharing one of those photos?

"Do things like this ever happen to you in Thailand?"

Occasionally, but I can't spell.

Great reading. Merry Xmas.

PS.

Any chance of sharing one of those photos?

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Wish I had one. Not sure I'd share it though.

Sounds like an episode of "hiso baan nok".

I have a vivid picture in my mind of the situation(esp. the nipple bit)

Your misadventures and pratfalls in a small Thai village would make a good collection of short stories.

W.A.R.Wood [Consul in Paradise], and Denis Segaller [Thai Ways], both mined the genre, but their experiences were based on a fundamental understanding of the country and people they were writing about.

Your comic adventures in Rectum are typically modern and would resonate with the hordes of clueless farangs who now call Thailand home.

The reality is that in the countryside they are barely tolerated as cash-cows and are laughed at behind their backs.

This is a rich vein of humourous material that should be exploited by someone who is endowed with a bit of literary skill.

Did fatso make you fix the damage to the Well?

Yep! great read....but you make sure you use the Iodine on those scratches...

Hope you and the dog in question are recovering well.

For sure you will have a Merry Xmas....all the best

https://db.tt/WLC7ezwL

Did fatso make you fix the damage to the Well?

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He lives in Bangkok, and after that episode, which took place in late 2010, or early 2011, I didn't see him again for months. When he did show back up, he avoided me. Almost comically. Have never spoken with him again.

So there was one benefit to jumping down the well. I do wonder how it affected his placement in Uncle Kee's will.

Pepsi, despite numerous smacks, follows me everywhere.

Your misadventures and pratfalls in a small Thai village would make a good collection of short stories.

W.A.R.Wood [Consul in Paradise], and Denis Segaller [Thai Ways], both mined the genre, but their experiences were based on a fundamental understanding of the country and people they were writing about.

Your comic adventures in Rectum are typically modern and would resonate with the hordes of clueless farangs who now call Thailand home.

The reality is that in the countryside they are barely tolerated as cash-cows and are laughed at behind their backs.

This is a rich vein of humourous material that should be exploited by someone who is endowed with a bit of literary skill.

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I have notes on all of my experiences in Rhek Thum, and other places in Thailand. They could easily fill a book.

I've read Thai Ways. Not funny, as you say, but insightful, though now a bit dated.

Laughing behind our back? Never!

Great stuff, best I've read in quite a while. Reminds of some of the Blether's finer yarns.

Is Rhek Thum really a place or is that just a nick name for Bangkok?

Moved to The Pub...

Another classic

Did this really happen???

I have a green snake in my roof. Are you busy next weekend?

Great stuff, best I've read in quite a while. Reminds of some of the Blether's finer yarns.

Is Rhek Thum really a place or is that just a nick name for Bangkok?

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It's a small hole of a town an hour outside of Nakhon Si Thammarat.

Did this really happen???

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Exactly as described.

Moved to The Pub...

Another classic

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NO! Not Pub! Arhhh!

Thanks for the complement.

So, has anything like this ever happened to you?

Best story of the year

next time think before you go diving into wells. hydrogen sulphide which is heavier than air gathers in these places and is deadly toxic. kills many people every year in similar situations. it is produced from decomposing organic matter eg dead frogs etc. think youself lucky. me i would have watched the dog die.

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Guess I'm just Rhek-less.