The driver slowed unexpectedly on the expressway, pulling
slightly to the left. He put the square, white, utilitarian van in reverse and
reached his arm around the back of the seat to see out the back window. For a
moment, I worried that there had been a breakdown, engine trouble, a stall. Why
else would we be stopped on the expressway? I soon realized that our driver had
missed his exit, but he wasn’t going to let that stand in his way.
The traffic in and around Bangkok would make any Chicagoan
sweat, but my level of perspiration soared that day on a trip from the
convention center to downtown. As was my assignment on this trip, I had
completed this journey several times to drop off and pick up supplies by taxi
and by train, but this time was a little more uncomfortable. This time I was
traveling in the front seat of the utilitarian delivery van with my colleague,
Susan. With no seat belts. And a severe language barrier between us and our
driver.
Susan and I had attempted to climb into the back of the van
but were redirected into the front, next to the driver and a little too close
to each other. I got the distinct impression that this seating arrangement was
intended to be respectful of us and our white-womaness, but I would have much
preferred to sit on the floor of the back of the van. As he pulled out of the
convention center, we were hoping that he understood our request.
“Office supplies. We
need office supplies. Scissors, staplers, pens? Office supplies?” We knew that
repeating yourself several times was the best way to communicate with someone
who doesn’t speak your language. I mimed with my index and middle fingers.
“SI-ZORS.”
In the rearview mirror, he spoke to his 12 or 13 year-old
son, a quiet boy who sat in the backseat of the van engrossed in a comic book.
His job was to help us lift and carry all the supplies we purchased and to
occasionally interpret for his father using the English phrases he had likely
learned from Hollywood movies. The boy nodded. His father smiled and nodded and
we continued on our way. Susan and I
looked at each other and shrugged.
 | ||||||||||
| Actual photo of me in a taxi in Bangkok. Actual fear on my face. |
Our driver’s style
behind the wheel did not seem unusual in BKK. We jerked forward and made
unexpected turns. We merged into impossible streams of traffic. We accelerated
to dangerous speeds and then stopped suddenly for red lights or slowing
traffic. Being seated so close to the windshield made the dizzying traffic feel
like a video game simulation, which was both terrifying and nauseating. I’ve experienced plenty of bad drivers, but
this man drove like he was kidnapping a couple of American citizens and trying
to flee from the law.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if that was
really what he was doing. I’d start to
panic, finger my Thai cell phone preparing to call for help, and try to signal
to Susan that in exactly 60 seconds I was going to knock out the driver with my
sweet left hook, and she’d have to grab the wheel and slide into his seat while
I tied him and the boy together and notified the authorities of the
international incident we so narrowly avoided.
I got as far as smiling at Susan, trying to spell out the
plan with my eyes, and without notice our driver swung the van right, slamming
Susan and I into each other with whispers of fear caught in our throats, and
hit the breaks. Practically clutching each other, ready to scream or vomit, we
stared at our driver. He pointed up at a sign posted far above our heads.
“Office Depot!?” he shouted, nodding wildly.
And there it was, sandwiched between two blustering lanes of
traffic, swarmed by overhead power lines – an Office Depot. Ah yes, I thought,
narrowing my eyes, taking us to our destination covers your plot well.
We climbed out of the van in a hurry, thankful to be free of
the chaos of Bangkok’s urban bustle and safe in the familiar fluorescent lights
and orderly aisles of the Office Depot. Inside, as we filled a cart with office
supplies, our driver and his son waited
in the van no doubt laughing about how strange and sweaty American touristas
can be.
