Heat shapes the way people move, and behave.
The manager has looked worried ever since I met him. I’m in big trouble, he says. He’s around 60 years old, I would guess. Also, as my friend G. says, if you are Thai and you are bald, you are very hapless. He could be my father, or my grandfather. His ugliness contributes to his game. “I’m afraid you can’t host the event in the Penthouse” I’ve had so much shit this week that it could be enough for this entire year.
The perfect salesman has to pace the client, his victim. In this case, me. He doesn’t show any sign of judging me; he doesn’t even look at my tattoos or my earrings. He sits near me, looking in my eyes. I lay my forearms on the meeting room desk. He waits 20 seconds, and does the same. Pacing and imitating. Those are the tricks. The human mind is just as simple as that.
He asks me things, where am I from? What do I do in Bangkok? I forget everything I know about communication, body language and negotiations. Years of studies thrown down the toilet. My anxiety fucks me up. Stressful situations are where you can spot a real leader behaving as such. Evidently, I’m not one of those.
My total knowledge goes fucked whilst this guy asks me questions that I’m pleased to answer. The head of the sales management of one of the biggest hotel chains in Asia asks the punk guy where he comes from and what’s his life like. And the retarded punk guy is happy to reply, and also pleased that the old guy, resembling some of his ancient relatives, is interested in this.
“We need to solve this situation, time is running”. Reason finally comes back to me for a flash of a few minutes.
Have you ever dreamt of being a part of this world in which rich people have crazy parties in luxurious hotel penthouses without worrying about a single thing, because there’s just one moment to focus on, and that’s the present one. When they are all drunk and stoned in the private pool, maybe all naked already, getting out just to get more drinks and any kind of godforsaken drugs. We all saw a shit lot of movies with these scenes in them. We all said to our friends that we’d do whatever it would take to attend something like this, one day.
I had the chance. I couldn’t say no. That crazy rooftop penthouse bewitched me the moment I stepped in there. 3 floors, private pool on the rooftop, bar slot and sauna.
“Can we make a party here? There will be a lot of people. And music.”
The girl that took us to see the penthouse was classy and definitely hot, but can’t be described here for reasons that will be understood shortly. I’d have liked to take her out. Then I get pulled away by the thought of the party in the penthouse and forget to ask for her number or tune her up. Excitement, ferment, anxiety. Not a real leader, I know.
The girl with the hotel uniform says that there are always parties there. No problem with the music. You just need to set it up upstairs. Near the pool. A fucking real pool fucking party.
I couldn’t wait to book this room, but I decided to go there a second time, just to ask for confirmation. Not a leader, but one guy that got slapped in the face many times. Still trying hard, though. The same girl took me upstairs. She remembered me. Of course you can do a party there, she says. Just book the room, and get the organization job done. By all means, I forget to ask for her number for the second time.
The manager insists that I should have a coffee. I just want to find a solution and start setting up. Moreover, I have to play tonight and didn’t have time to prepare shit. He brings me down the whole sales staff in order to make me identify who was the girl I spoke with about the party. Anxiety. Stress. I just remember that she was pretty, and all the fucking staff here are like their from a models show. However, even if I could recognize her, I’m not a damn spy. Life taught me something. Even if poor and without any sort of moral, no snitching is going to come from this mouth.
The guy is asking me for help now. His abundant belly, his branded shirt and his gold watch beg my guidance.
I think of one of my former girlfriends. We had a very good connection when having sex, and even after some time together, we could still fuck several times a day, until my dick was painful and purple. We had our tricks.
I remember this day when we were in our bedroom and I was licking her pussy and she had her eyes closed all moaning and wet. So I asked her what are her fantasies. What does she thinks about when we fuck. She replied that she doesn’t have any fantasy, so I started fingering her to make her more horny. She moaned a bit more and then I continued the tongue work. With my head still wedged in between her legs and my fingers inside her, I asked her again about her fantasies.
“Mmm sometimes I think about an old, short, chubby and ugly boss at work that order me to wank his little cock while I’m all dress up in formal black tailor”
She was all wet as I continued to finger her faster, still licking her clitoris. I asked her to continue.
“Mmm He then wants to fuck me, but still sitting on his chair because he’s too weak even for doggy style. So I pull up my skirt, I move my panties aside and jump on him, but facing ahead and giving him my back.”
Here, I pulled out my dick and inserted only the tip of it into her pussy. She’s so horny that she’s almost coming already.
“Then he can just fuck me less than a minute and comes into my pussy. And when I think about it I come as well”
I started stroking her with the whole length of my dick. That was true, less than a minute and she came.
This guy reminds me of that situation, with all those young girls around him, forcedly smiling and laughing at his bullshit. The super manager, so well trained and skilled in body language and communication, asks for my sympathy. That and 15000 baht more than the original price of the Penthouse, for using the ballroom of the hotel.
I’m not intimidated by this guy anymore, not after thinking about my ex girlfriends secret thoughts. It’s like when those super communication gurus tell you, in order to overcome the initial emotion before a public speech, to imagine that your audience is just wearing underwear, in order to overcome the initial emotion.
On the edge of a nervous breakdown, I look at the time and it’s already midday. We’ll have to setup a completely new space, without decorations and without having seen that in less than 6 hours. My mind goes back to my bed, my solitary room, then shift to some shithole bars with the thought of a lonely whiskey binge. Have you ever thought you want to be somewhere completely different? No tough decisions, no thoughts and stress, just serotonins dropping down your brain cortex like rain pouring. This was one of those moments.
Come back here. I tell my mind. I agree with the super manager about the money, but we need to hurry. Not surprisingly, he’s not that worried anymore for a couple of minutes. Then he goes back to his role again. Damn sales people, they are the devil. And also lawyers. Never trust people that speak too much. Silent people telling clear statements. Jello Biafra, not the fucking John Lydon and his reality shows for pop celebrities.
The entire sales team follows us to the function room on the rooftop. We evaluate the situation and, as I was expecting, there is a lot of work to be done. Sound system, bar, decorations, visuals for the projector, banners. And of course inform the people that the party format has changed. No more penthouse. No more pool. Much more money to spend. As those crazy Beastie Boys guys use to sing, you’ve gotta fight for your right to party.