Sofas, shampoo and stealing stuff
Arriving back in Chiang Mai, my first step was to hire a motorbike. My second step was to return it and hire one that worked. After finally finding a machine that I could kick start without resulting in screaming obscenities that would make Gordon Ramsay Cordon Bleu in the face (yeah that pun made me feel a little queasy too), I set about hunting for an apartment. Two days of constant searching later, I decided to move back into the place I lived before. I dumped my bags on the floor and was all set to head out when the receptionist came flying through my door.
‘You only stay one month?’ She enquired.
‘Why yes’ I replied
She then set about my apartment, taking the bottled water from the fridge, the washing up liquid from the sink and the glasses from the cupboard, all the while casting furtive glances at me over her shoulder – the kind of glances that are usually reserved to be shot at people we fear will transform into giant carrots if we don’t keep a constant eye on them. Once she had fled my apartment I rejoiced with glee upon discovering that she had failed to take the tiny bottle of shampoo. Never mind that it was an inadequate amount to even wash the hair of a shaved Barbie, it was MINE and I was going to use it ALL!
After showering (and spilling most of the shampoo on the cockroach who had decided it simply couldn’t wait til I was out of the shower before it took a wash), I plonked myself down on the sofa. It was only then that I realised that the sofa had no seat cushions. I trundled downstairs and sought out the employee with the best English. After explaining the situation she made that ubiquitous Thai noise that indicates understanding – the Thai equivalent to the English ‘Ah yes’ sounds something akin to a cow having its tail run over by a lawnmower. The woman then shrugged her shoulders, cocked her head and said ‘Sorry, don’t have’ before walking away and sitting on one of the 12 cushion-loaded sofas in the lobby. Now if I’m ever accused of anything, it’s of being stubborn (or arrogant, or blunt, or sarcastic) and I was not ready to give in so easily. I sauntered over to Mrs Moo, pointed to the cushions she was sat on and said ‘You DO have and I NEED’. She cocked her head to the other side, gave me the kind of pitying look that teachers reserve for the kids they like but know are never going to work anywhere but McDonalds, and informed me that she needed the cushions on all 12 of the sofas. I asked her if she could buy me new cushions and she pretended not to understand, so in retaliation I pretended not to hear her shouting after me as I ran upstairs with the two cushions I’d stolen from the sofa behind her.