A complaint...or two

The honeymoon is over. I am now entering whatever
stage comes after that; the part where I
become cognizant all the annoying little things about Bangkok that I was too busy to notice when I was trying to figure out how to get on the bus or how to decipher the laundry detergent from the fabric softener at the Big C. They say this stage, too, will pass. I hope so because I don't want to be one of those foreigners who is always complaining. But for now, it is part of the acclimation process. So, here goes...

There are no dryers over here. Notice I did not write, "a dryer is hard to find"; they are non-existent. Hang everything to dry--sheets, towels, all of it--all over your apartment so it looks like tent city.

Toilet paper at many public places is located outside of the stall, if it is there at all. Sometimes you have to pay for it. Other times, it just isn't there.

In lieu of a Western (read normal) toilet, there are often squatters. Yup, try that in heels and a pair of dress slacks with hose on. I'm sorry, my knees just don't work that well.

There are no paper towels and napkins are the consistency of toilet tissue (the cheap toilet tissue).

There are mangy, stray dogs everywhere, which means there are piles of stray dog poop everywhere, too. I'm surprised I have not stepped in it yet.

You cannot buy alcohol at the grocery store between the hours of 3pm and 6pm. I've been told the rationale behind this, but since it made no sense to me, I chose not to remember it.

When you eat at a restaurant, the waiter hands you the menu and then stands there and waits for you to order. After you order, the food and drinks come in no particular order. You very often get your food before your drink. Plates are not cleared away when you are finished and you always have to ask for the check.

Drinks are often served in a small plastic bag with handles (as opposed to a cup). Of course, it does come with a straw.

The pollution is terrible. When I have spent a lot of time outside in the city, I feel like I am a shade or two darker just from the smog that has settled on my skin. I'm waiting for someone to come up to me and write "wash me" on my forehead.

I can't touch the monks. It's not that I want to rub all over them, but when you tell me I can't do something, it just makes me want to do it all the more. What would happen anyway...?

There is a 400% markup on wine.

Something always smells. Bus fumes, smoke from a make-shift grill cooking various types of meat, stagnant canal water, sewers, fish frying, over ripe fruit...(I think I was particularly sensitive to this last week with my stomach out of wack).

Wet trash must always be separated from dry trash. I didn't know trash was so picky about what else it shares a can with.

These people don't know what cheese is.

Apparently, the Thai men have never seen breasts before. They stare at my chest (only my chest) with utter fascination. I think they really believe I am hiding torpedoes under my shirt, and I will let them loose at any minute. Run! Duck for cover!