"But Crack Isn't Soluble in Water" was written during my second visit to Bangkok on January 16, 2004. While there I befriended a young couple named Loren and Jack from Portland, Oregon. My travel partner and I saw them everywhere we went in SE Asia. Finally, we got the courage to introduce ourselves at a bus stop in Siam Square. Jack looked holy and Loren was chubby, so we naturally pegged them for Christian missionaries and had avoided them all along.
We have just returned from a day at a Bangkok Mall. I got us all lost on public transit. Now it's 9 PM on a patio near the backpackers' ghetto, Kao San Road.
Forty onces of beer costs ninety cents.
"But crack isn't soluble in water," says Jack.
Jack is a twenty year old Louisianan who now lives in Portland.
"It isn't? I mean, isn't it made from--"
"Yeah, sodium bicarbonate and other stuff, but they form some bonds that make it insoluble. Haven't you ever seen these guys walking around in the city with a bottle of Snapple in one hand, unopened, and their other hand kind of shaking like they are about to roll some dice?"
Jack has worked at Nature's stores in Ohio, but he prefers the ones in Oregon because everyone can spark up in the back.
"No -- well, maybe, I guess I've seen people carrying around a Snapple. What's with the hand? The crack makes them have some kind of twitch?"
He shakes his right hand underneath the table, "Rocks -- it means I've got rocks."
His beard is curly brown and longer than the hair on his head. His eyes are wise and gentle. He looks like a Hasidic Jew.
"Oh, so they shake --"
"But the crack is in their mouth. It doesn't dissolve," he adds.
I'm thinking about how people will buy a drug and use it regardless if it has been in someone's mouth.
"When the cops come, the seller downs the Snapple or Fruitopia or whatever. The citric acid dissolves the rock"
"Won't stomach acid do the same thing"
"Sure, but they say it hurts like hell."
This makes some sense to me after drinking half a bottle of Chang. But, I find a flaw in the idea.
"Wouldn't swallowing a few rocks make you really high?"
The scenario begins to play out in my mind. I proudly share my logic with Jack.
"So, now you are caught by the police, but you're really high. One would think that that much crack would kill you."
Jack raises his hands.
"I guess it doesn't."
I am convinced that the problem with Jack isn't that he's a bad person or that he's some kind of drug dealing, addicted scum, but that he's just too smart, too calm, and a little bored with the world. At fifteen, he was in his high school Fortran class day trading shares of Yahoo! and eBay. On the weekends, he would take a ten hour drive across the border to Mexico from Louisiana and come back with a kilo of powder.
I asked him how he'd get it past the border guards.
"It's unbelievably easy. The best way isn't to put it in any luggage."
"You put it up your butt?"
"No, no. I would pay a few girls two, three hundred dollars to come along, and I'd have them stuff it inside."
"Inside their vaginas?"
"Yep. You'd be surprised how many of them would do it for free. I think they liked the excitement or tension, or whatever."
"No cavity searches?"
"Never. But the last time I went I was stopped. They look you over, you know, if they suspect anything, they write something on a small piece of paper with a pencil--"
I think of hall passes.
"-- it stipulates what kind of search they want. You're supposed to get out of the car and take the note to another official at some desk."
"Is it in some kind of code?"
"No, it's in full English -- mine said something to the effect of 'full search of goods and strip search'."
"What did you do?"
"I went over the counter and I acted like I was completely confused. I used my Louisianan accent. A hick accent and acting dumb will get you out of so many situations. One time, my girlfriend and I stayed at a park somewhere near a national park, near the fucking Rio Grande -- I can't remember the name -- God, what was the name of that park?"
Jack looks down and starts slapping his head with his left palm.
"Anyway, my girlfriend always wants to leave at five A.M. so we don't have to pay the five dollar park fee. She thinks it's a public park, why pay? We haul ass in Loren's red VW Beetle past the camp host's R.V.. A few seconds later, I see a truck with a strobe light on behind us. Loren doesn't pull over, I ask her to but she refuses. The driver of the truck lays on the horn and he keeps on it. Finally, Loren pulls over and she makes me get out of the car to talk to him. You're not going to believe what he says."
"What's he say?"
"I just remembered! It was Big Bend National Park!"
"What'd he say?"
"The ranger takes off his cowboy hat and says, 'H O W D Y!' like he was happy to see me."
I bend over with laughter.
"He really said that? Howdy?"
"Can you believe it?"
"That's fucking hilarious."
"So I put on my Louisianan accent and tell him how I didn't know about the five dollar fee. The dude points me to the envelope still on Loren's windshield. I act perfectly surprised and apologize by saying things like 'Well, I'll be!'. He makes us go back to the camp and he watches us as we put the envelope with five dollars into the box. He didn't even threaten us with a ticket. In fact, he gave us detailed directions to the our next trailhead and wished us a good trip."
"Unbelievable."
"That kind of shit went on all the time in Louisiana. My friends and I would go drinking and swimming on other people's property and the owner would come home. We wouldn't run. They'd tell us to get out, but then they'd ask, 'Who's your daddy?'. I'd tell them Francis Bauchett. 'Bauchett? That's yo daddy?' They'd say, 'His little brother used to sell us our crayfish!'. After that, they'd let us keep swimming."
"Amazing."
"So, I'm at the border, right, and they're getting ready to bust me. I say, 'Piece of paper? What piece of paper? Line? I'm just tryin' to find the bathroom.' Then, one grabbed me as I made my way back out the door."
"Then what?"
"They ended up searching all my stuff. Didn't find anything though, didn't even bother strip searching me. None of the girls were with me that day. I had hid all the drugs and money in my tighty whities. I was scared shitless. I've never went across the border for another run since."
"All this drug money, the day trading, that's how you afford to travel?"
"Uh huh."
"You're a nurse, right?"
"Yeah."
"Does that mean if you were to kill somebody, you know, in a violent way, like chopping their head off, you know -- just making a bloody mess of them -- that the courts would be more lenient? 'Cause I've heard they do that sort of thing for people like meat cutters. Do they do the same for medics and stuff?"
We have just returned from a day at a Bangkok Mall. I got us all lost on public transit. Now it's 9 PM on a patio near the backpackers' ghetto, Kao San Road.
Forty onces of beer costs ninety cents.
"But crack isn't soluble in water," says Jack.
Jack is a twenty year old Louisianan who now lives in Portland.
"It isn't? I mean, isn't it made from--"
"Yeah, sodium bicarbonate and other stuff, but they form some bonds that make it insoluble. Haven't you ever seen these guys walking around in the city with a bottle of Snapple in one hand, unopened, and their other hand kind of shaking like they are about to roll some dice?"
Jack has worked at Nature's stores in Ohio, but he prefers the ones in Oregon because everyone can spark up in the back.
"No -- well, maybe, I guess I've seen people carrying around a Snapple. What's with the hand? The crack makes them have some kind of twitch?"
He shakes his right hand underneath the table, "Rocks -- it means I've got rocks."
His beard is curly brown and longer than the hair on his head. His eyes are wise and gentle. He looks like a Hasidic Jew.
"Oh, so they shake --"
"But the crack is in their mouth. It doesn't dissolve," he adds.
I'm thinking about how people will buy a drug and use it regardless if it has been in someone's mouth.
"When the cops come, the seller downs the Snapple or Fruitopia or whatever. The citric acid dissolves the rock"
"Won't stomach acid do the same thing"
"Sure, but they say it hurts like hell."
This makes some sense to me after drinking half a bottle of Chang. But, I find a flaw in the idea.
"Wouldn't swallowing a few rocks make you really high?"
The scenario begins to play out in my mind. I proudly share my logic with Jack.
"So, now you are caught by the police, but you're really high. One would think that that much crack would kill you."
Jack raises his hands.
"I guess it doesn't."
I am convinced that the problem with Jack isn't that he's a bad person or that he's some kind of drug dealing, addicted scum, but that he's just too smart, too calm, and a little bored with the world. At fifteen, he was in his high school Fortran class day trading shares of Yahoo! and eBay. On the weekends, he would take a ten hour drive across the border to Mexico from Louisiana and come back with a kilo of powder.
I asked him how he'd get it past the border guards.
"It's unbelievably easy. The best way isn't to put it in any luggage."
"You put it up your butt?"
"No, no. I would pay a few girls two, three hundred dollars to come along, and I'd have them stuff it inside."
"Inside their vaginas?"
"Yep. You'd be surprised how many of them would do it for free. I think they liked the excitement or tension, or whatever."
"No cavity searches?"
"Never. But the last time I went I was stopped. They look you over, you know, if they suspect anything, they write something on a small piece of paper with a pencil--"
I think of hall passes.
"-- it stipulates what kind of search they want. You're supposed to get out of the car and take the note to another official at some desk."
"Is it in some kind of code?"
"No, it's in full English -- mine said something to the effect of 'full search of goods and strip search'."
"What did you do?"
"I went over the counter and I acted like I was completely confused. I used my Louisianan accent. A hick accent and acting dumb will get you out of so many situations. One time, my girlfriend and I stayed at a park somewhere near a national park, near the fucking Rio Grande -- I can't remember the name -- God, what was the name of that park?"
Jack looks down and starts slapping his head with his left palm.
"Anyway, my girlfriend always wants to leave at five A.M. so we don't have to pay the five dollar park fee. She thinks it's a public park, why pay? We haul ass in Loren's red VW Beetle past the camp host's R.V.. A few seconds later, I see a truck with a strobe light on behind us. Loren doesn't pull over, I ask her to but she refuses. The driver of the truck lays on the horn and he keeps on it. Finally, Loren pulls over and she makes me get out of the car to talk to him. You're not going to believe what he says."
"What's he say?"
"I just remembered! It was Big Bend National Park!"
"What'd he say?"
"The ranger takes off his cowboy hat and says, 'H O W D Y!' like he was happy to see me."
I bend over with laughter.
"He really said that? Howdy?"
"Can you believe it?"
"That's fucking hilarious."
"So I put on my Louisianan accent and tell him how I didn't know about the five dollar fee. The dude points me to the envelope still on Loren's windshield. I act perfectly surprised and apologize by saying things like 'Well, I'll be!'. He makes us go back to the camp and he watches us as we put the envelope with five dollars into the box. He didn't even threaten us with a ticket. In fact, he gave us detailed directions to the our next trailhead and wished us a good trip."
"Unbelievable."
"That kind of shit went on all the time in Louisiana. My friends and I would go drinking and swimming on other people's property and the owner would come home. We wouldn't run. They'd tell us to get out, but then they'd ask, 'Who's your daddy?'. I'd tell them Francis Bauchett. 'Bauchett? That's yo daddy?' They'd say, 'His little brother used to sell us our crayfish!'. After that, they'd let us keep swimming."
"Amazing."
"So, I'm at the border, right, and they're getting ready to bust me. I say, 'Piece of paper? What piece of paper? Line? I'm just tryin' to find the bathroom.' Then, one grabbed me as I made my way back out the door."
"Then what?"
"They ended up searching all my stuff. Didn't find anything though, didn't even bother strip searching me. None of the girls were with me that day. I had hid all the drugs and money in my tighty whities. I was scared shitless. I've never went across the border for another run since."
"All this drug money, the day trading, that's how you afford to travel?"
"Uh huh."
"You're a nurse, right?"
"Yeah."
"Does that mean if you were to kill somebody, you know, in a violent way, like chopping their head off, you know -- just making a bloody mess of them -- that the courts would be more lenient? 'Cause I've heard they do that sort of thing for people like meat cutters. Do they do the same for medics and stuff?"
posted by c. @ 1:01 PM
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