Good Enough

This is a story about one of those days when I mostly had no idea what was going on. In Thailand I have lots of those days. At first they used to bother me. I became angry at the country and its people because I wasn’t completely in control. Gradually I learned that I don’t have to understand 100% of what’s happening here. About 20% is usually good enough.

The story begins at a restaurant on the edge of town, where I joined a few Thai friends one evening. These folks go way back with me—they had all studied in Seattle during the early ’90s. Now and then we get together here to chat. We switch back and forth between languages. When I don’t laugh right away at their punch lines, they patiently tell the whole joke again.

This time one of them brought along a friend, Da. I had never met her before. She sat at the other end of the table and spoke very fast Thai. I hardly followed anything she said, but I didn’t ask her to repeat anything because I didn’t think she was really talking to me. At the end of the evening, I wasn’t sure she even knew my name.

Later I got a call from another old friend, Tik. Tik hadn’t been at the dinner, but she knows Da. She was calling to say that Da had invited me to her house for a meal on Monday. I was a little surprised that Da didn’t call me directly, but I knew she didn’t have my number, so it made sense that she would ask Tik to do it. I said I’d be glad to come.

On Monday I called Tik to ask directions to Da’s house. Tik said the dinner was on Tuesday. I didn’t say, “But you told me Monday!” because I know that plans sometimes change. It was even possible that I had heard the date wrong, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Instead I just said that Tuesday wouldn’t work for me, because I had guests arriving from the States. Tik said, “Oh, no! How can I tell Da?”

To me this problem wasn’t too difficult—just tell her. Yet I sensed Tik was worried about informing Da that I couldn’t join the meal. I knew that Da was slightly older than Tik, and I guessed that Da’s social status was slightly higher. In Thailand these things matter. No doubt the situation involved potential face loss, that most delicate and puzzling aspect of Thai decorum.

I said I would tell Da myself—just give me the phone number. Tik did. Before I had a chance to call, my phone rang. It was Da. She must have gotten my number from Tik. She said I really had to come over. I said I had guests. She said I should bring them. I said there would be five people altogether. She said no problem. I said we didn’t have a car. She said she would pick us up.

The whole thing was starting to seem pretty strange to me. I couldn’t figure out why a woman who hadn’t really even said two words to me in my life was now insisting that I and four non-Thai-speaking strangers should join her for a meal. The only thing I could guess was that I had something she needed. I had no hint what that something might be.

All five of us went to her place. It turned out she had invited many other people. We all sat down together at a long table. Delicious home-style food was already beautifully arranged. At one end sat my guests, next to a few Thais who could speak pretty good English. I sat at the other end, wondering when someone would provide a clue about why we were there.

The clue never came. It wasn’t a matchmaking event—everyone but me was already paired. A request to tutor somebody’s nephew? Nope. The conversation stuck to food and travel and the usual complaints about increasing Chiang Mai traffic. Even after we rotated seats for dessert, nothing emerged that qualified as an excuse for our presence.

My guests were pleased. “You sure know some nice people,” they said after we returned home. That was the confusing part—before we arrived, I hadn’t known those people any better than my guests did. I know them now. Or at least I know them about 20%. Which I suppose is good enough.