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Illustration from East of the Sun and West of the Moon by Kay Nielsen. Image from The Public Domain Review.

The Defenestrations
Chapter 3AB
by Patrick Limcaco

Part 1

When he opened his eyes he actually knew where he was (Convent Road, Silom, Bangkok), and if he were more self-aware he would be amazed that he knew.

He had Instagram-storied this place before because he thought it was “sick” and “cool as fuck” that people — a mix of locals, expats, and Chinese tourists — were eating by the side of the road, beside huge piles of garbage.

But there was nothing cool about waking up on the side of the road in one of Bangkok’s filthiest areas, garbage juice streaming down your left cheek.

Food was the least of his concerns. He whipped out his phone and checked how many likes and comments he’d gotten on Instagram since…how long had he been unconscious?

The first thing he did was check his phone, of course, and let his followers know that he had “no idea how tf i got here in stinky ass #silom”, which he streamed directly to Instagram.

Inigo was famished—he couldn’t remember when he last had a full meal. He decided to look for someplace to eat where he could clear his head and figure out his next steps. Then he realized his wallet was missing, which meant no food money, not even for a 35-baht bowl of noodles, or a 7-11 meal.

Inigo liked freebies as much as the next influencer, but he was not going to beg for a bowl of poor man’s noodles.

“It’s Bangkok — nothing could ever go wrong!” he declaimed as he wiped his left cheek.

Except that things had always gone wrong in Bangkok.

Damned Soul by Gianlorenzo Bernini. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Part 2

He knew he had money in the bank, so he entered a bank to get some cash.

“Sorry, mister, but cannot withdraw if have no passport naaa kha.”

Inigo was indignant and told the nice Thai lady who he was.

“What do you mean ‘cannot transfer’?! It’s easy! You know, I have 900,000 followers on Instagram! Search for my name if you don’t believe me. It’s @therealinigo. If you don’t let me withdraw money I’ll tell all my followers about your bank’s bad service!”

Bad Inigo. Thais might be some of the loveliest, calmest people on Earth, but they didn’t take kindly to foreigners who made a scene in public. The Thai bank teller chose the path of peace and resistance, and stayed silent.

Inigo stormed out of the bank and walked to the nearest shophouse serving noodles. A smiling Thai woman at the counter took his order.

On some level, he knew that curating his well-travelled, man-of-the-world persona online wasn’t fully representative of what was really happening in his life. For instance, he hated partying with Bogart Masuntoc, a model/entrepreneur/possessor of a vaguely British accent as a result of being born to rich parents and getting educated in England. He especially despised taking society snaps with Bogart. But Inigo had accepted that an Instagram photo with someone who had more followers than he did made social media marketing sense.

The Falling Man by Auguste Rodin. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Part 3

Carefully-planned online fabrication was necessary for an influencer.

What was really happening in his life was falling out of windows. He considered it real when he found himself unable to share an event with the world.

Just like the last time he cried, which was when his father died. That accident introduced Inigo to a world of pain whose existence had heretofore been unknown to him. He thought it queer to remember the events of that period, while this strange thing was happening to him in Bangkok, of all places. In some ways, he blamed his dad’s early passing for his obnoxiousness.

Because who or what else could he blame?

In this noodle house in Silom, he wept in the presence of an audience that wouldn’t leave sad or shocked emojis — his noodles. Which he could not pay for, so he intended to sneak out before the cashier noticed.

It was then that the noodle lady put a glass of black iced tea on the counter.

“Sorry, I didn’t order this,” said Inigo.

“Is free na kha,” the noodle lady said.

Inigo wept some more.

At the window, a dignified white cat glanced at the weeping boy, then resumed cleaning its paws.

Welcoming New Ways of Thinking by Jason Moss. Used with permission.

Part 4

Under different circumstances, Inigo would smirk at the sight of a “Wanted: Bartended” ad at a go-go bar. But the last few days had been unlike any in his life. Fresh Boys Club off Soi Twilight was hiring and Inigo walked in to fill out an application.

“Hello! I heard that you’re looking for someone.. I know how to make cocktails.”

It’s true that Inigo had dabbled in mixology. He mixed drinks for friends and for his mom and her amigas in the past. Mixing drinks was one of his few useful skills, aside from livestreaming things and choosing filters that pop for his posts. He was confident he could be a “bartendel”, never mind the fact that he didn’t speak a word of Thai. The Fresh Boys Club manager, however, was not in the mood to deal with a foreigner today and just stared at Inigo with puzzlement.

“I look for a job? Like, ah, employee in your bar? I need a job, please?”

That was borderline begging.

The Thai club manager was not thrilled with a condescending farang who talked to him like he couldn’t understand English. Of course the manager could understand English; his club drew the biggest crowd of Japanese misters in the entire Silom!

Foreigners like Inigo spoke like this all the time, and the club manager had had it. And even if this foreigner were qualified, it would be illegal to hire a non-local for certain jobs that Thais could perform. So the Thai man pointed Inigo to check the “spa” just across the street.

“Go there! Go! Go!”

Alone, and worst of all, his phone battery down to 22 percent, Inigo walked and walked.

Sure enough, Tawan Spa Club, right across from Fresh Boys, was recruiting male masseurs. Unlike the unsavory character at Fresh Boys, the mamasan at Tawan only took a long, hard look at Inigo from head to toe. She hired him on the spot.

Self-portrait of Sandro Botticelli, detail from The Adoration of the Magi. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

Part 5

One of Inigo’s most-liked Instagram posts was the one with him sun-kissed and topless aboard a yacht with douchey Bogart, champagne glass in hand. Its caption read, “I’d rather have stamps on my passport than a house full of stuff.” Inigo certainly knew the value of a passport now because his was lost. That meant he was stuck in Bangkok to work at this spa and influence its lurid clientele.

Inigo was, one must admit, fairly attractive. His obnoxiousness might be an acquired taste, but his aquiline nose, clear skin, and six-pack abs were universally appreciated, and that was precisely why he was hired.

He was in Bangkok but he wasn’t living the expat life. He was supposed to be eating exquisite food, ogling women, and getting drunk day and night — not fondling men for 300 baht and living off tips. He never thought he’d be a masseur, but the Thai job market was competitive and there was no demand for product endorsers on Instagram who didn’t speak the local language.

His good looks didn’t matter much in Thailand, which had an abundance of beautiful half-Asian, half-Caucasian model-types. For sure Thailand had no shortage of influencers, too, especially Bangkok-based ones.

This realization made him want to jump out the window on the third floor of Tawan Spa. No money, no passport, no Instagram-worthy job. Jumping out the window was looking like an attractive option.

* * * * *

What happens next?

Tune in next week for the continuation!