86ed from the Buffalo Bar.
I first walked into the Buffalo Bar in 1997. It became my local after I moved to Soi BongKoch. The beer was cold, the open-air atmosphere was a welcome change from the go-go bars’ tobacco-reek, and more than a few of the hostesses were desirable. My wife understandably hated the place and didn’t buy my excuse for frequenting the bar.
”I only go there because it’s not far from home.”
Less than two minutes away.
Telling a lie would have sounded better.
But nothing nice lasts forever. The fortyish owner took up with a young Belgium thug. Eddy relinquished the daily running of the bar to Sandy. The pretty girls left in droves. Her mama-san’s constant cawing grated on the ears and she insulted the best girls like Cinderella’s stepmother realizing her beauty had faded for good.
Only Tuk remained, which was enough for me.
She had plenty of salacious stories from her past and present.
I usually went with Champoo, my little dog. She sits on the bar and drinks Heineken from a small dish. She doesn’t like chang. Too strong or bitter. She’s been doing this over three years. Everyone loves her, but this night Sandy tells me to get Champoo off the bar.
I wasn’t having anyone speak to Champoo like that. “Just give me the bill. I’m leaving.”
I thought about it a little. I had been coming there for years. Buying drinks for everyone. Never complained when they added a little chisel onto the bar bill. The girls were ugly now. The music insipid. Plus Big Head didn’t work there anymore and she had been my favorite.
If Champoo wasn’t welcome neither was I.
“You know what. I’m never coming back here as long as you work here.”
“Good.” Sandy doesn’t own the place. She only works there.
“Good for me too. Save money. And I tired of hearing you speak.”
“Good you go too.” Sandy crowed with her eyes wide. She was angry at me and Champoo. “You not special. You same all farang> Come and go. Come and go.”
“And you’re the same as all women. You get old.”
The tone of the conversation descend down a slope slippery with expletives in Thai and American. The bouncers rushed into the bar, ready to throw out an unruly foreigner. Seeing me they stopped in their track. I buy them pizza. Sandy gives them shit.
“Don’t worry boys, I’m leaving.”
“And don’t come back.” Sandy shouted from behind a phlanx of bar girls.
“No problem.”
Outside the bouncers begged me to incite Sandy to fight me.
“You slap her here no problem.” Dao the head of security winked at me. She was no one’s friend, but my mother didn’t raise me to hit women and to be honest Champoo was a little dirty, although no more than most of the old farangs haunting the Buffalo or me. At least she never sweats. Not even when she’s drunk.
So there ends a beuatiful relationship between me and a bar. Funny, not sad at all. Then again there are 3000 other bars in Pattaya. One of them has to be right for me.
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June 12th, 2007 at 6:28 am
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