Fueling Thoughts

The 1st time I was seriously asked if I was an Alcoholic was at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in Chiang Mai, then held in a large colonial-styled bungalow not far from the McCormick Hospital, which I also later learned was a hotbed of ex-pat politics. I was dragged there by a friend who religiously attended their meets, and partly by my curiosity. What I didn't know was that it was expected from everyone to introduce themselves and say that they are Alcoholics and next whether they are still partaking or proudly declare that they haven't touched the devil's brew for "n" number of years. So when it was my turn to introduce myself, I only stated my name and country, as I didn't consider myself either then or now to be an alcohol abuser. Immediately a stout bald gentleman in a Pink Hawaiian shirt, a thick gold chain and a young Thai girl on his side, with the demeanour of an ex-US Special Forces guy (but might have been a retired Xerox salesman for all I know)

I was still too groggy in the morning to notice that his breath reeked of stale booze when he stopped me outside a store where I just purchase milk and showing me his calloused dirty hands said that he was an out of job mechanic and if could I help him buy some rations as he has two small daughters to feed. Frankly,  I didn't like him at all, but his plea about having kids to feed struck a cord.  The dislike only deepened when sensing my positive disposition he quickly added a list of stuff: flour, tea, sugar and rice.  "Whoa, I am not getting you your  shopping list" I told him and just asked told the store clerk to give him a kilo of flour on my account. "What, you can't even buy me 5 kilos" he retorted angrily and bitterly, to which he received a string of expletives(my first in the day) and was left standing empty-handed. It was obvious that in his eyes I was a fat selfish   Bourgeoisie  unwilling to help a desperate man, whereas  I saw an entitled ungra