The signs and symptoms of ‘Thai Social Disease’ are unmissable among groups at a restaurant, says Nat. He asks only, ‘Can’t we all just get a meal?’
That was it. I had had enough of the other table. It was time to pull out the big guns. Complaining to waiters in Thailand about other restaurant patrons’ noise is of no use. Glaring is even less effective. These people were well and truly sloshed and it was getting uglier by the minute. As dessert approached, one of the women was shrieking at the top of her lungs in mock excitement, as if no one else in the place could tell she was having fun. I got up, full of indignation, and marched over with blood in my sight and fire in my hands. I was going to shut that bitch up if it meant having to fight my way past the whole pack of her friends. I was going to . . . I was going to . . .
Oh my goodness. As I approached, our eyes locked in recognition and I realised the loud-mouthed bitch was a long-lost friend. Darling, is it really you? I haven’t seen you for years! Oh my dear, how are you? I didn’t recognise you with that new hairdo. Sexy skirt, honey, sexy skirt. And it went on and on and on until I realised I was also screaming and yelling and creating the biggest ruckus this side of a card game at a politician’s house.
Okay I admit it. I am a victim of Thai social disease.
I don’t mean anything remotely akin to western social diseases, which are generally of a murderous or venereal nature. No, I’m talking about finding myself inviting at least 10 people with me wherever I’m going. I’m talking about making loud conversation in public places, generally about someone we don’t particularly like. And yes, I’m talking about feeling bad about disliking someone and therefore asking the offending person to join parties I give. Please someone, just shoot me now before it gets worse. Put me out of my misery before I start screaming for mock joy in restaurants and pointing at badly dressed strangers. Please.
There was a time when I would get annoyed by the aforementioned behaviour, which would be considered boorish by any standard, but the more and more time has passed since my being back in Thailand, my western standards for friendship have started to fall away and I find myself slipping into Thai social patterns. It’s a sickness, I tell you.
As I said, I’ve started to ask a crowd of people with me wherever I go. It seems that the magic number is 10. Any fewer and I feel like someone is missing. More likely than not, someone is missing because I know more than 10 people. I don’t like them all, but that hasn’t stopped me from asking them to join me. It makes the gossip more fun, especially when you’re treading on shaky ground by bringing some of the offending people along. Furthermore, I start to feel left out if my friends do something together and I’m not invited. So what if only five people will fit into one car? We can go in two cars. I have a Land Cruiser. Eight will fit in my car.
This need for mass togetherness, even among adults, is unique to Asian societies. I do not know of its existence in any western culture. In the west, the individual is important and to do as you please is the ultimate goal of each person. That can’t happen here in Thailand because you are never alone. It used to drive me crazy when I first got back after 25 years of living abroad, but now, after another 20 years or so, I’m getting used to it.
The good thing about this obsession with togetherness is that it deploys as a vast social parachute helping the individual to overcome personal problems. The suicide rate in Thailand is relatively low compared to a western country, recent economic woes notwithstanding. It often is a matter of practicality. People rarely kill themselves because they are rarely alone long enough to make an attempt without someone’s coming to stop them. There are plenty of friends and family to help out if a person becomes unemployed and so the responsibility and stress is less than it is for someone from cultures where immediate, rather than extended, families are the rule.
The problems, of course, occur when one person is the main breadwinner in which case the pressure to make money is actually greater. Social interaction can also become quite limited to one set of friends and, should one actually ever be deemed offensive enough to be ostracised, the abandonment is that much more devastating. My greatest objection with Thai social disease, however, is that greng jai, the complex system of social considerateness, requires consensus; in other words, everyone must agree. While this is a good way to preserve the integrity of the social group, it takes hours for any decisions to be made.
Just try to ask a group of 10 Thai friends to decide on a restaurant for the evening. I rest my case. Once you’ve actually reached a restaurant, try ordering. One person won’t eat seafood. So you can’t order fish. Another won’t eat beef. No beef. Yet another friend doesn’t like vegetables. Forget that. By the time you’ve gone through the particular dietary idiosyncrasies of 10 people and rejected the offending types of food, there is nothing left to order. When that happens, why didn’t everyone just decide to eat at home? It took bloody long enough to decide on a restaurant, can’t we now get something to eat?
This is when greng jai helps keep the group intact and people from eating at home alone. The person who won’t eat seafood will say please order fish, I don’t mind. And so it goes with the friend who won’t eat beef and so on until finally a meal is ordered. Of course that means it will take over five hours from beginning to end, not counting time spent in traffic. But if it keeps people together, why not?
I’ll tell you why not. I need at least eight hours’ sleep.