A distress call from she who must be obeyed, her failing car battery had finally died and she needed rescue. Given the circumstances, she actually didn’t seem very distressed at all. The reason became clear when I arrived at her car, she had conveniently failed to start right outside a food stall.
Out came my trusty jump leads, which have given occasional but reliable service for more than twenty years and a small crowd gathered. Some young Thai males are eager to use the jump leads and would no doubt create numerous sparks and destroy both batteries if I let them. She who must be obeyed is concerned I will lose face (and therefore she will lose face) in front of the ever-swelling throng. “Do you know what to do” she enquires whilst positioning herself behind a nearby concrete block in case of explosion. “Aberdeen, eight years of winters, below freezing in the morning” was enough of a reply, I felt, to explain that I had done this often. Murmurs of appreciation and what was nearly spontaneous applause when her car starts at the first turn of the key. Damn, I’m good.
I sent her back to work in my car and headed in her car for Sukhumvit and the Cockpit outlet which has proved reliable and reasonable in the past. Replacing a battery should be a five minute exercise, anything more than that would leave me frustrated.
Do you have a battery for this car, I enquire of the Cockpit lady
Yes.
Do you have it in stock?
Yes.
Really? Available now? (I have been through this before).
Yes.
So we agree to proceed and they remove the old battery to stop me escaping. A grubby young man takes an even grubbier piece of paper upon which some letters have been written after perusing the battery, and disappears across the road. Suspicious.
I give it ten minutes and then ask, where is my battery? She points upwards, in the store, they are getting it.
I give it twenty minutes and then ask, where is my battery. She points upwards, in the store, they are getting it. Coming soon. Nervous grin.
After half and hour I am pacing around their service area, looking at my watch and making loud sucking noises through my teeth. This alerts the woman who apparently owns the place. You can tell that she owns the place because she sits at the back reading the paper, occasionally yelling at the staff. She comes out of her lair and proceeds to scream at my hapless server who is again hopefully pointing skywards where my imaginary battery isn’t. More screaming and pointing, and finally the grubby young man can be seen returning across the road with a battery which he has obtained from another outlet.
Possibly they expected to smuggle him back over the road without me seeing, and then have him appear from the upstairs storeroom with a cheery wave and a “voila!” More likely they just lied so I wouldn’t go anywhere else, and couldn’t do so once they had removed the battery. I did ask the girl when the battery would be coming down from the storeroom; but she just gave me a gotcha grin and the bill.
Cockpit sucks.