Seen on Bangkok T-Shirts

We all know the little smile that creeps across our lips when we spot a clever t-shirt slogan. Over here that pleasure is doubled by the idea that the t-shirt wearers may not know how clever they are.

Does the woman sporting “You must be over 21 to enjoy this ride” really get it? Or how about the guy whose chest says, “I’m not pasteurized?”

Because knowledge of English brings along some status, t-shirt slogans in Thailand are almost never written in Thai language. The only exception is one that was popular around the king’s birthday, proclaiming Rao Rak Nay Luang (“We love our King”)!

The English phrases sported by Thais range from silly to sexy to raunchy. My favorites to date: “Talk to young people—they know cool stuff that you don’t,” and “On a cellular level, I really am quite busy.”

Occasionally some local flavor gets mixed into the messages. I grinned when I walked by “Just do nothing,” which featured a meditation image instead of a Nike swoosh. Then yesterday a drawing of a large St. Bernard approached me. As it got closer I read this weird caption: “Welcome bird flu. I am not scared of you. I am a dog.”

Routine Change

I figure your job is either about making money, or about spending it. Personally I’ve always belonged to the latter camp: teaching, trail clearing, lobbying, librarianing. I’ve rarely been asked to sell a product or to do anything much in the way of for-profit activity.

But this week at CDC we’re going after some really big money, flirting with a major foundation (OK, it's THE major foundation—I don’t think I have to spell it out for you) to see if we can interest them in partnering with us on some dream-big global health initiatives in SE Asia.

The pitch involves selling of a kind, and for me it is great fun to help put together an overture that could potentially end up doubling the annual budget for CDC/Thailand. So while the routine at home has hit a few speed bumps lately, life at work has rarely been more interesting and satisfying.

And hilarious. In the midst of some fairly busy days, we had a goodbye dinner for a well-loved colleague. Jokes and wine flowed equally fast as we sat at a long table from sundown until the moon was high in the sky. We all kept hoping that our stomachs wouldn’t figure out that they were already full. At one point the situation seemed to call for a blues number. Luckily I never travel without a harmonica.

Turnover: the Saga Continues

Tonight the newest caregiver phoned to say she couldn’t get her old boss to let her out of her contract, so she won’t be coming anymore. This news is discouraging, and not just because we’re back to two. It’s a reminder that most of the time I have very little idea what’s really going on.

In Thailand it seems I look at the world through several panes of glass at once. I can see, but the view is distorted by language, culture, and lots of little non-verbal clues that I’m not experienced enough to interpret.

Maybe if I’d grown up here, I’d understand better why it is that we’re having such trouble getting people to stay with this job. (I do know enough about Thai culture to be fairly sure that the reasons given are rarely the real reasons.) Do funky spirits live in our apartment? Is my Thai pronunciation so bad that I am mistakenly insulting the candidates? Are the two veterans intimidating them?

Or maybe I’m just so used to Jip’s eccentricity and her rare-among-Thais disease that I don’t appreciate how odd she must appear to people here who normally do this kind of work. Cross-cultural misunderstanding cuts both ways.

Turnover, continued

One of the caregivers with a sick kid called this morning. She said her son is much better and that she’ll be back tomorrow. Hooray!

Also, a woman we liked when she interviewed yesterday says she can start full-time on Tuesday.

I’m relieved to once again have a team of three. No fewer than seven candidates came through our door last week. Jip kept getting their names mixed up. I spent lots of time not going to my day job, so that I could help with training.