It must have been 1990 or 91, my battalion was in Thailand for a training deployment. They worked the hell out of us and made us hurt. I learned first hand about the nasty things that live in jungles. After 23 days in the jungle the entire crotch fell out of my trousers, it was cooler that way but still somewhat embarrassing. I wasn’t the only one, that helped a little. The Wolfhounds finally got me a shower and decided I was decent enough to allow to visit Bangkok. Although “decent enough” isn’t a very apt description. We may have been washed on the outside and smellin’ nice but decent never even entered out thoughts.
It was a five hour bus ride from our camp to Bangkok, Thailand. I saw the damndest things on that journey. A family of nine all riding on a single moped. Apparently horsepower was the only recognized traffic law, there were even folks driving garden tillers down the road. They were big tillers but still, this was the definition of “foreign.”
We checked into our room down town in a five star hotel, dropped our bags and went in search of trouble. We strolled down the street past clothing shops, music shops and even a sweet boot store with a pair of knee high american style, pointy toed cowboy boots made from cobra skin. The loops on the top of the uppers were each a cobra’s head with the hood spread. Even David Allen Coe didn’t have a pair of boots like that. We were looking for two things and DAC sings about one of them here…
A couple blocks down the street we found the first and the second. It was called “The 007” and was commonly classified as a “fishbowl.” A bar but the wall behind the bar was glass and behind that was a four tiered stage filled with beautiful little brown girls in all manner of dress, from little school girl outfits to the silkiest of see-through unmentionables. You could order a beer and either a short time or a long time with one of the beauties each wearing a numbered pin on their chosen outfit. When the waitress came to your booth you could order three fingers of Jack and Number 97, short time, please.
Number 97 was absolutely amazing, she did things I had never imagined. The “body to body massage” was beyond my wildest dreams. Shortly after that the owner of the place came out, he was an Aussie expat who had worked with Americans during his service in Vietnam. He recognized us as American Soldiers and came from behind the bar to talk to us. A couple rounds later we were in the back of his Lincoln limo heading down town. We wound up at a donkey show. The donkey was sick and couldn’t perform that night but it didn’t matter, I’d never seen anything like that. I never even imagined anything like that.
There was a tiny little naked Asian girl who shot a dart gun from her unmentionable. We even batted balloons across the room and she hit more moving targets than I ever did on the moving target range. There was another who piled a dozen quarters on the floor then picked them up with her pussy. TShe walked around for a minute, then she counted out change like the girl on roller skates at the A&W from her belt mounted coin holder. I have problems picking up a single coin with my fingernails… Imagine…
Another tiny little Asian girl shot bananas out into the audience, we had to stop one of our buddies from eating one he’d caught. Thank goodness he didn’t catch it in his mouth. He tried.
We went back to the hotel with four tiny little asian girls and had the time of our lives. They didn’t speak English, we only knew bad words in Thai. They told us through hand signals that they were hungry, we gave them the phone and let them order room service. The kitchen brought up soup made from some heinous oriental pepper. It looked like chicken noodle soup but instead of noodles it was peppers and it tasted like flaming diesel fuel. The girls all laughed at our sensitive palates and tore into that soup like it was Captain Crunch bathed in soothing milk.
The next day we went to explore the city. We flagged down a tuk-tuk. A bicycle powered taxi. Th dude driving it may have tipped the scales at 90 if he’d have been soaking wet and had rocks in his pockets. Three American Infantrymen got into the shaded seat behind him and started to feel bad. Less than a block down the road we decided it was just f*cked up that this poor old bastard pedal us around, it just wasn’t right. Two of us stepped out and picked him up by the arms, the third stepped into his seat and we placed the driver between us in our shaded seat. We had the best of intentions and the old dude seemed to enjoy it until the new and somewhat drunken driver crashed into a light pole. The 90 pound Thai dude leapt from the seat and had a shit hemorrhage in a very loud and boisterous manner. The next thing we knew there was two Thai policeman in uniform there asking questions.
We only remembered the briefings we got before our deployment. The ones explaining that America had no SOFA agreement with Thailand, then we had visions of the movie “Midnight Express.” We negotiated through hand and arm signals, paid the driver and both the cops $50 American, $150 total, then we shook hands, signalling that everything was cool. Then we hauled ass out of the AO.
I gotta say that was the best $50 I ever spent. We went back to the 007 where things weren’t so dangerous. Number 17 was mighty fine too. By the time we left Bangkok I was moanin’ the blues.