Screwed

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Ba-bang! The formica tabletop in the middle of the kitchen shudders with the staccato slapping.

“Gah!” Matt rocks back in his chair and thumbs the dwindling stack of cards in his left hand.

Andrew grins and scoops up the pile he’s won with exaggerated care under his opponent’s scowl. They’re alone in the room in The Meeting Place playing a card game called Egyptian Ratscrew (don’t ask) that Matt had learned as a kid in summer camp. It’s a game that involves flipping cards over one at a time to discover patterns of doubles, ‘sandwiches’, straights, flushes, and so on, with the first player to recognize and slap the stack of cards getting to add them to his deck. A match ends when one person has all of the cards. Egyptian Ratscrew is all about quick processing and reflexes, relying only marginally on luck. And Matt hasn’t lost a game in months.

He’s losing now, though. He grinds his teeth and flips over another card, seldom finding himself behind, let alone challenged to make up the difference (not since that time with the Chinese backpacker in Bangkok who couldn’t speak any English). This kid’s reaction times are insane. Matt feels his blood pressure rise as he–

Ba-bang! Andrew’s flip revealed a king, which sandwiched with the cards already on the stack and he’d slapped in first. Matt had distracted himself and again, been a hair too slow to react. His teeth grinding intensifies. He should have expected this from the young man sitting across the the table.

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Flip-Flopping

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“I’ll do four hundred,” Matt offers, holding up four fingers. Four hundred NT (New Taiwan Dollars) is about $13 USD.

The man behind the counter at the New Balance store shakes his head and taps the calculator reading ‘480’. It’s Matt’s second day in the country, but it’s already obvious that Taiwan isn’t big on haggling.

Matt whines a bit, feigning indecision on the purchase, but the salesman knows he’s won. Matt’s fabric sandals, the pair he’d bought in Chiang Mai, Thailand, already started disintegrating a few weeks ago. He needs a new set. And the ones in this store are not only plastic and more durable, but bright red with a lime green streak down the sole. He specifically chose these, the gaudiest pair available in his size, so he’ll have no trouble finding them in the foyers of hostels where local customs dictated everyone leaves their shoes before coming inside.

“Ah, alright.” And the American fishes in his pockets for his wallet.

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Found in Translation

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Who let him in here? That sweaty…backpacker shuffling around the Blue Ribbon Club Lounge? Look at him pile his plate high with the free food and–and he just swiped three cans of soda from the refrigerator! He’s just putting them in his bag for later! That’s clear abuse of the lounge’s complimentary drinks. Clear abuse! And he’s just taken his shoes off! He’s sitting at the tables, barefoot! God, he’s so close I can almost smell him.

Matt glances over at the businesswoman leering at him. He maintains eye contact as he wrestles with stuffing an entire pork bun into his mouth. She shies away back into her magazine. Who reads magazines anymore? Apparently everyone; the airport lounge is full of them! Whatever. The airline status he’d accrued through dozens of flight segments at his last job affords him complimentary access to the facilities here in Bangkok. So he’s here for the non-magazine amenities.

He leans back in his chair. He’s still surprised they let him in after the commotion he caused at security.

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Love in the Time of E. Coli

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“Snnnnnk!” Matt sucks snot deep into his nose.

“Wow, you are just so attractive,” Chelsea mocks sweetly. She scrunches her face when her congested travel partner swoops in to kiss her.

Two nights ago, the first night of Chelsea’s arrival in Cambodia, he’d caught a minor head cold, a sinus infection. How do you get a head cold in the tropics? Easy: just blindly turn the thermostat of your room all the way down, causing the air conditioning to blast unseasonably frigid air onto your face all night. The sniffles had started before they left the hostel the next morning.

“I’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

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Don’t You Miss It?

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“Let’s just get Pad Thai,” Matt says. He pushes the menu aside.

“Yeah? Is it good here?” Irene asks.

Matt gestures at the pop-up streetside restaurant in the Silom district of Bangkok. “It’s a Thai dish in Thailand, it’s probably good everywhere.” Recently back from his near week-long jaunt up to Chiang Mai, he’s already a self-appointed expert on the country, despite it only being his third week in Southeast Asia.

Irene nods at this answer and graces her dinner partner with a stunning smile. She’s in advertising, an unsurprising career choice given how attractive she is. Half Russian and half Chinese, she’s a ‘mixed race’, which is almost always a good looking combination.

“You know, my buddy Zack would be so jealous of me right now. Out to dinner with a cute half-Asian girl. He has a thing for Asian girls.”

She laughs. “And you don’t?”

“I don’t,” he admits, “but you’re really giving that preference a run for its money.”

Another brilliant smile.
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Stick to the Ribs

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A breeze wafts off the river, but it does nothing to soothe the yearning in the young man. He gnashes his teeth slowly, unaware that he’s even doing so. His gums itch, the exposed parts between his teeth especially so. He wants nothing more than to scratch that itch with a big bite of food, meat preferably, followed by a satisfying chew and swallow. And another, and another. All to fill the hollowness inside him, to satisfy that craving.

Matt is hungry. Matt must feed.

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Marooned, Part I

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The following entries were found in a journal, the contents of which seem to refer to events dating to early November 2014. Through the unknown author’s words, we can piece together a picture of the authentic experience of tropical island beach bums.

Captain’s Log, Day 1:

I find myself unsure of where to go and what to do out here. Earlier today, I took a bus and a boat, two hours and then another, respectively, to make my way out here to the island of Koh Rong. I’ve surrounded myself with something of a posse; there’s strength in numbers, both in bargaining and safety. After some first impressions, the savages, local and foreign alike, seem to accept me, albeit warily. I’ve been doing my best to assimilate into their culture, already having forsworn wearing a shirt of any kind until I return to the mainland.

If I return.

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Marooned, Part II

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Captain’s Log, Day 4:

Whether due to attrition of funds or intolerance of the swarming mosquitoes and sandflies, my original group has petitioned some locals and made it off the island. Will they reach the shore? No one can be certain in this feral-dog eat feral-dog world. Speaking of, there are more than the usual number of dogs out here, fighting with each other and begging for food. Far more. I wonder why that is.

I had originally planned to leave today as well, but found myself charmed into staying at least one more day. Not from the nightly howling, growling, and whimpering every night, but by another set of travelers and an old friend. This new tribe and I vibe even better than the last one, and we spend hours sharing stories of our lives around the game table. I am the clan chief of gaming. Though many challengers have risen, all have failed; no one can unseat me from my throne.

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