To Barter or Not to Barter?

That, my friends, is the question.


Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
being charged a ridiculous amount for my iced coffee
Or to take arms against the Thai street vendor
and by opposing get back the extra 15 baht he decided to charge me today
For no apparent reason.


...Interesting how a few key word changes can alter a famous Shakespearean soliloquoy into a description of my unending sorrow at being charged arbitrary prices for Thai iced coffee. Literary blasphemy? Perhaps. A true expression of my emotional state this morning? Most definitely.


Here's how it went down:

It's 8:15 am on a Sunday. I'm standing outside the building of my CELTA course, sweating in a blouse and pants in the 95 degree heat. Because I was the lucky person who was last to sign up to observe an English class being taught (a requirement for my course), I had to drag my butt out of bed at the crack of dawn and come watch some sweaty dude teach four half-asleep students about indefinite articles on the one day I would normally get to sleep in. Guess what kind of mood I'm in.

The only thing in this world, in this universe, in this galaxy that can cheer me up right now is an iced coffee. I mean, when it comes to iced coffee, the Thai's have got it going on. Filled with about three cups of sugar and half a can of condensed milk, these things are like liquid crack, with a pretty pink straw serving as the crack pipe. But I digress...

After elbowing the other liquid crack addicts to keep my spot in "line" (basically a haphazard swarm of crazy-eyed coffee fiends), I make my way to the front. In my hand I've got the necessary currency -- a hundred-baht note, from which I will be charged the usual yee-sip (twenty) baht selling price that is not only advertised on the sign, but charged of every customer.

That is, every customer except me. After reaching out to grasp the plastic cup of perfection, I drop the bill into the coffee slinger's hand. We lock eyes in a penetrating stare for the next four seconds. Oh crap. I recognize that look.

"Yee-sip baht, chai mai?" (Twenty baht, right?) I manage to get out.

"Farang." ("Foreigner.") He spits out at me, and hands me back 65 baht in change. He then smiles and goes back to his business, leaving absolutely no room for discussion.

Ah, yes. And so the curse of the farang strikes again.



You see, when you're a white girl in Thailand, you can pretty much guarantee that there are no guarantees. Food prices vary based on the mood of the street vendor, admission fees for tourist sites seem to change with the sun's position in the sky, and taxi prices? Forget about it. There's a fee for the toll for the meter for the gas tank charge, blah blah blah blah


Basically, being a farang in this city is total B.S. And the little "political science student" voice in my head is screaming "JUSTICE! THIS WILL NOT STAND!"

But here's the thing-- when it comes down to it, is bartering with the people who seem to get off on ripping off really worth the hassle? When the currency rate is 33 baht to the dollar, and the guy working on the street corner is trying to charge me the equivalent of an extra 45 U.S. cents as a farang-fee, am I really going to fight him on it? Am I that much of a d-bag to actually stand in that iced coffee line and demand that I be given my "chump change"?

For now, at least, here's my answer: nope. I'm gonna take a chill pill and let these people rob me blind. Because with the currency rate as it is, I think I've got quite a bit of mileage left in these eyes before that happens. Who knows? Maybe the guy behind the vendor counter is using his extra farang allowance to put his kid through college. Maybe he's in debt from buying too much delicious condensed milk this month. The point is, this guy probably needs it more than I do anyway, and I'm not gonna fight over some annoying thing called "principle." Plus, I'm addicted to the iced coffee.
















Reclining Buddha wouldn't yell at some dude about charging him too much for iced coffee...