It has been a pretty hectic time for me since my last post. I went back to Sweden for a few weeks, visiting family and friends, which was really nice. I was delighted to see that my brother had stocked up on Sriracha, which I deliciously poured down my throat. Then I came back to Bangkok in the beginning of August, where work has taken up a huge chunk of my time––even more so than before––leaving me with barely no time at all to continue to write these insanely inspiring and intelligent posts for you, my loyal readers. I know you have missed me, and I have missed you too. But now, to everybody’s happiness, I am back with another glorious episode that happened recently.
My Norwegian colleague, and sadly also friend, felt quite under the weather the other day. His nose was running, his throat was soar, and he just felt kind of shitty. I’m still not sure if this is an effect of simply being Norwegian or if he had caught a cold, but one thing was certain – he wasn’t feeling like a million dollars.
Impulsively, he rushed to the drug store in order to buy some goodies. He came back up to the office and looked disappointed and confused as hell, with any goodies being painfully absent, thus causing his rather sad puppy-looking facial expression. With a breaking voice and one single, manly, Norwegian tear starting to pour down his cheek, he explained that the staff at the drug store didn’t understand what he meant when he desperately said that he wanted some “nose spray”.
As we have discussed before, sometimes, the Thais simply don’t understand us foreigners, the same way we don’t understand them. Like, at all.
For example, how
the fuck can the Thai waiter––with a straight face, like it’s completely acceptable and normal behaviour––serve me water together with the check at the end of the meal, when it was like the first thing I ordered. I had to eat this incredibly spicy (and also delicious) food without anything to drink, and I was therefore left with no other choice than to shamefully and scumbaggily drink my girlfriend’s water right in front of her, leaving her with a sad puppy-looking face. She furiously threw a fork at me shortly after, but I smoothly managed to dodge it like it was the Matrix, which made me a little excited.
Anyway, giving the pharmacy staff the benefit of the doubt, I tried to find some holes in my friend’s attempt to get nasal spray, which would be the correct term here. I mean, how could they not have nasal spray in a pharmacy in a country where you can practically buy anything that you wanted––even stuff that would only be sold with a subscription from a doctor where I come from?
I vividly pictured his Norwegian attempt in my head, and I came to the conclusion that the pharmacist must have heard “I want NO spray”––as opposed to “nose spray”––from my embarrassing and moderately gifted friend. Can’t blame the staff for that.
I suspect that the next step in his grand but pathetic plan to cure his running Norwegian nose would be to resort to charades, body language, or even sign language. Maybe he even started to grunt and moan random sounds and noises, like he was constipated and trying to release a major shit, desperately trying to explain what he wanted––no––needed.
But, then again, being Norwegianally limited, he didn’t succeed in that either, leaving him with no medicine to cure his troubles.
I am very sad to make my big comeback post be about my Justin Bieber-adoring Norwegian friend, who can’t even manage to buy nasal spray like an adult, and who thinks that cough medicine is called cough lemonade, and that “cake” is supposed to have the word “wet” in front of it (yes, he really thinks it’s called wetcake*), but this is the case. This is what’s happening.
This guy really exists.
* = Norwegian translation: bløtkake