Shin = To be used to something
Din = Soil, ground, dirt, basics
Fin = Happy, high, content, ecstatic
PATTAYA, Thailand – The election posters wilted sadly in the sun. People are “shin” to the sights. Faces of smiling candidates peeled off the lamp posts like an old man’s sunburn. Nobody bothered to replace them. They blended nicely with the dust and din, splashed on by motorbikes and exhaust pipes.
At Lek’s coffee stall near a temple where voting booths were set up, Somchai stirred the 2 tablespoons of condensed milk into a glass of black coffee. He wore an “I Voted” sticker proudly from three elections ago. The sticker was fresher than the smiling candidates on the posts. Across from him sat Mark, a foreign friend from somewhere cold, angry, and logical. They met the night before in a noodle shop, where Somchai invited Mark to come along to witness Election Day.
Mark had been in Pattaya long enough to stop saying “wow” to everything, but not long enough to not raise his eyebrows at many. Glancing at the loudspeaker blaring election music on a truck, “It’s an important day.” He remarked. Somchai smiled. “Yes. Very important day. Campaign trucks must stop yesterday, but today they still happy.”
“You also look… happy.” Somchai nodded. “I very happy.” “To elect your favorite candidate?” “No, I don’t know any of them. But election day is like Songkran, except it’s dry. Or Buddhist Lent, but not as sober. No work!! Everybody Fin!”
“Fin?” “Happy, contented, high, and satisfied. They just go make a mark on the paper, come out, and go get drunk.” “Oh”, Mark nodded before getting curious. “But don’t people argue? Worry about policies?” Somchai chuckled. “That comes later. Don’t think too much. Thai people, we are shin already.”
“Shin?” Another new word. “Used to it”, Somchai said. “To what?” A man walked past the voting stall, came to the coffee stall, and handed out red envelopes. He slipped one onto Somchai’s table like a business card. Mark stared. “Was that… money?” Somchai looked at the envelope. “And a number.” “You can’t just…this is vote buying!” Somchai shrugged. “Buying? No. Helping. I got some already last night. This is a last-minute subsidy.”
Mark lowered his voice almost into a whisper. “But doesn’t that make you upset?” “Why?” Somchai asked. “I get money. I vote. I eat noodles. Life continues. Very logical.” “But what if you take the money and don’t vote for them?” Somchai grinned. “That is between us.” “Us? Oh no, I have no part in this.” “I mean between Buddha and me.”
A police officer wandered by, sipping iced tea, carefully not seeing the envelopes. The officer waved. Somchai waved back. Mark scratched his head. “This would be a hot scandal back home.” Somchai nodded sympathetically. “Back home, you have winter.” “What’s that got to do with anything here? “Exactly.”
Across the street, a bar owner pulled a chain across his entrance. Tourists pressed their faces to the glass window, waiting. “No alcoho today,” the owner announced. “Erection raw.” Mark almost asked Somchai “What raw, again?” but instead he asked, “But last night I saw everyone was drunk. Isn’t the no alcohol supposed to be from the night before the erection, I mean election?” Mark corrected himself, frustrated that he got pulled into this.
“Yes. Tonight also drunk,” Somchai said. “Just not before 6 p.m….or is it midnight…nobody wants to know.” “That makes no sense.” Somchai leaned in. “It makes perfect Thai sense.” A tourist shouted from inside the bar. “Today at 2 p.m., same? No alcohol?” “Yes,” the owner said, annoyingly. “From two to five, no alcoho. But today no alcohol, because erection. But maybe have. But you not speak.”
Mark’s eyes widened. “I don’t even know what he’s saying. But what’s the deal with two to five no alcohol anyway?” Somchai thought for a moment. “Because lunch.” “That’s not a reason!” Somchai smiled patiently. “It is a reason if you don’t ask why.” At exactly 1:59 pm, the bar erupted. Glasses were filled to the rim. At 2:00 pm, silence.
At 5:01 pm, the eruption resumed, louder, happier. “This is insane,” Mark said. Somchai sipped his coffee. “No. This is din din.” “Soil? Dirt?” “No, in this case it means raw raw,” Somchai corrected. “Like reality. Down to earth. Come, let’s go, before the booths close.” Mark decided to go with Somchai to see the voting procedures. They walked toward the polling station at a local school within the temple grounds. Blue plastic chairs. Canvas tents, paper booth boxes. Volunteers fanning themselves in the humidity. A banner read Please Vote With Integrity.
An older woman in line ahead of them turned to Somchai. “Did you go for the blue envelope or the red one?” “Red,” Somchai said. “Dee kha, me too, more money.” she said, satisfied. Mark whispered, “She didn’t ask who you’re voting for. What did she mean?” Somchai whispered back, “Don’t know, but why ruin a nice day?”
Inside the booth, Somchai took his ballot, stepped in, and came out thirty seconds later, humming. “Well?” Mark asked. “Did you vote with your conscience?” Somchai considered. “I voted with my stomach. Tonight Shabu.” “You sell your vote for one Shabu?!” Mark sighed. “Back home, people would protest.” Somchai patted Mark’s shoulder. “Here, we eat. Come.”
As the sun dipped and the bars prepared for their legal rebirth of alcohol, Pattaya gave out a big sigh. Posters flapped. Dust settled. Envelopes disappeared. Democracy is fully functional. The bar owner came to say alcohol will start at 6 p.m., and immediately continued with “Chang or Singha? You can order now.” Somchai raised a bottle of beer at 5:55 pm. “To democracy.”
Outside, vendors sold grilled chicken and lottery tickets. Mark felt defeated. “So no matter who wins, everyone’s just… fine?” Somchai nodded, truly content. “More than fine. Fin.” “But what about corruption?” Somchai thought carefully. “Corruption is like traffic. You don’t like it, but you plan your day around it.” Mark scratched his head, “Don’t you get angry? About the same cheating people winning again?” Somchai considered this deeply. “Angry is tiring,” he said. “We tried angry before. Now we are shin.”
“So you just accept it?” “No, we adjust.” “To what?” “To the ground. Din.” “And just be fin?” Mark was clearly agitated at this point. Somchai smiled, sipping his treat. “Still alive. Still eating. Still laughing. Still have tomorrow. Fin or no fin?” Mark looked around: smiling voters, bored officials, bars still closed but full of people, open streets full of noise. It was chaotic, illogical, and oddly peaceful. “I don’t understand this country,” Mark said. Somchai patted his shoulder. “No need to understand. Just stand on ground.”
“Din?” “Yes!!. You finally got it, my friend.” “And then?” “Shin.” “And if you get all those vote-buying results and get all the bad people who rob you all for their own benefits? What happens to the country?” Somchai grinned. “Fin.” “Happy”? “Finit.”
