I Met Her at 4:30 AM

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TW: violence, sexual violence

The live music from the bar below has finally quieted and the roads are down to dozens of taxis and motor bikes transitioning partiers, sex tourists, and the drunk back home. I sit up in bed wondering how I should spend my time in these unnaturally early hours. There’s commotion from a couple down the hallway outside— not uncommon for this city. This is typically the hour when a client’s sexually appetite has been satisfied and they’re kicking out their temporary guest. Sometimes they don’t want to pay, sometimes they’re too drunk to make any sense of the money, the conflict varies. I usually try to say out of these arguments because my presence can easily make things worse for the woman involved, especially if there is a language barrier between myself and the man. I sit back in bed and my ear finally catches their specific words.

“I just want go home," she said exasperated.

“No, just stay with me.” He’s American— or at least his accent is.

“No, you’re drunk and I’m tired, please just let me go.”

“Just come back in, I can take you home with me. Don’t you want to come home with me?”

“No! I just need you to click the thing so I can leave.”

“I’m not going to do that, I’m not done with you, come back inside.”

I realize what’s going on. The elevators in this building won’t let you down without scanning a keycard and this guy is refusing to let this woman leave even though she’s literally pleading with him at this point.

I toss on some clothes, grab my phone and key card and I’m out the door. She spins around instantly at the sound of my door. As soon as I greet her the American man disappears back into his unit. It’s amazing how quickly the bullies run away here.

The Thai woman looks so young but she’s probably late 20s or early 30s. She’s dressed in an expensive club outfit, probably from one of the nicer brothels in town. Her eyes are wide with stress and her fingers tense but as soon as I motion for her to come with me and show her my key card relief physically washes over her. We quickly move to the elevator and I tell her I’ll come with her. 

This girl is seasoned. She’s been working Pattaya for many years and you can tell she knows how to handle herself, but this one had her stuck and she was scared. She explains to me what happened with tears in her eyes. She doesn’t seem like a woman who cries easily but she is exhausted. 

In the lobby she presses her palms together in front of her nose repeatedly to thank me and especially so when she realizes that I wasn’t headed out myself, that I just came out to help her. “Mei phem rei,” I tell her, “No problem. I was awake anyway."

We chat for a moment what jerks these guys can be. I make sure she can get home safely. Her body language is conflict because I can tell that everything in her wants to get the heck out of this building but she’s also longing for the reassurance of a friend. I open my arms for a hug and she leans right in. “It’s going to be ok. You’re safe now.” She smiles with even more tears. We do the “thank you, no problem” verbal dance again and then she’s off, literally jogging out of the doors in the only short step sort of way that stilettos allow a woman to jog.

Maybe it wasn’t jet lag that woke me up after all, maybe it was a strangers need of a friend. But now I’m really awake, so I guess it’s time for some coffee…

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