State of the Red-Light: Coronavirus Edition

Nearly every Bangkok blogger, from the shitty to the even shittier, has shat out a recent post attempting to cover the effect of the Coronavirus on the red-light scene. But it’s pretty obvious from what they’ve produced that in addition to being terrible at constructing sentences in English, they don’t actually know the state of the red-light at the moment, because they’re not in the red-light. And who can blame them? Most are retirement-age, and wouldn’t survive a bout with Covid-19, so they should stay away. On the other hand, your boy Seven is both unafraid and strong enough to survive Corona. So here’s an authentic account from a whoremonger who’s in the thick of the ick. Are you ready? Let’s go:

The overall state of the red-light amidst the Coronavirus outbreak is…bleak.

Foot traffic in Cowboy, Nana, and Patpong was already down as a result of the global economic downturn, the iron grip of the junta-turned-government, and the advent of whoring apps like Tinder. Coronavirus is yet another nail in the coffin of Bangkok’s raunchy red-light culture as the bars empty out, leaving only bewildered dancers and bored serving staff. The few mongers brave enough to patronize these pernicious petri dishes of potential pandemics get showered with attention from attention-starved starlet harlots trying desperately to make their drink quotas along with rent money. Speaking of, it’s a renter’s market. Girls are accepting discounted short-time rates. For example, I know a girl in Patpong who’s giving out 500-baht BJs to feed her gambling habit.

Caucasian customers are the new gold standard at the moment, as Thai girls instinctively suspect Chinese and Japanese punters of being infected. It’s a frisky farang’s dream. Speaking of Thai instincts, the collective attitude in the red-light at the start of the outbreak was overcautious and paranoid. But when nobody died in the first week, everyone sort of loosened up. As Americans panic-buy toilet tissue, Thais seem to be losing their fears all together. Though in the vacuum of reliable information on the virus, random and useless protocols have been put in place in a haphazard attempt at safety. For example, bottles of hand sanitizer are placed strategically around the gogos, and the girls squeeze out a dose between shifts on the pole. Speaking of poles, every hour or so somebody comes onstage with a rag and wipes them down—the poles, not the girls. All bar staff wear masks, which just FYI according to all the experts does nothing to protect you from the virus. And that’s about it. If it sounds like they’re not doing enough to prevent the spread, you’re wrong. Because the fact is, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop the spread of Coronavirus. In the words of disease specialist Michael Osterholm on a recent Joe Rogan podcast, trying to stop this virus is like trying to stop the wind. If you’re in public, you’re exposed, and no amount of hand sanitizer, soap, masks, or gloves can keep you from getting it. The only way to guarantee you don’t get infected it is to avoid all contact with other humans for the next several weeks, possibly months.

As schools, G-Summits, music festivals, and flights around the world are being cancelled, and whole cities get quarantined, it’s only a matter of time before big Thai burgs like Bangkok and Pattaya are shut down completely. Once the outbreak expands beyond control, expect the kinds of citywide shutdowns now taking place in Italy, China, and the US. So get your gogo fix while you can.

“Hey Seven,” you might be asking yourself, “How can I get the most of my mongering experience while minimizing my chances of dying from Covid-19?” Well, I’m not a medical expert, but here’s my advice: When you enter the gogo, find a seat with a good amount of empty space around it. Then as you peruse the girls, look for the lonely ones. Popular girls get sat in the laps of half a dozen random dudes per night. If anyone’s going to be crawling with Corona, it’s those bitchez. So single out the saddest, most forlorn looking girl onstage. She’s probably sanitary. When she comes over, resist the urge to put her on your lap. Sit her down next to you, and don’t face her. Face forward, and look at her out of the corner of your eye. If she tries to speak, shake your head vigorously to let her know she should shut that virus hole of hers. Then, send her yes-no messages by typing them into Google translate on your phone. Do you want to barfine? Yes or no. Will you take 500 baht? Yes or no. When you get her back to the hotel, do her doggy-style with her face pushed into a pillow. Afterward, peel the pillow case off the pillow so it’s inside-out and chuck it out the window. Then fill a plastic bag with hand sanitizer, sink your junk into it, and secure it to your person with rubber bands. Keep it on overnight. Easy-peasy, no diseasey.

To be serious for a moment, Coronavirus is a real and imminent threat. And at this point, it’s all but unstoppable. So you have a choice—you can try to avoid it by sealing yourself off from the world and playing solitaire and writing on the walls in crayon for the next six months, or you can get out there and live. It’s up to you. If you choose the latter, expect to have your pick of the red-light litter at rock-bottom prices. To all those about to monger despite the risk, may your chick be cheeky and squeaky clean, and remember that if Corona gets ya, you can at least die with a smile and/or a gogo dancer on your face, because you died in the greatest place on Earth: Thailand. Peace.

(photos courtesy of Pattaya Tony)