DISCLAIMER:
Nick is an absolutely real person. And he avoids you just as much as you avoid the thought that guys like him actually exist in this town.
Meet Nick. He’s 40 years old and has been living in Thailand for almost a decade. Like many others, he arrived completely clueless, armed with nothing but a modest budget and a head full of YouTube videos, deciding to move here before he had even stepped foot in the country.
His early days in Pattaya were far from a fairytale. He struggled hard until he finally grasped one simple, brutal truth: there are no normal jobs in Pattaya. After a year of suffering, he landed a corporate gig at a telecommunications company in Bangkok. Today, Nick is the head of a department. During COVID, while everyone else was complaining, Nick spent two grueling years studying Thai at Ramkhamhaeng University. It was daily torture, but now he reads, writes, and speaks Thai fluently.
Friday, 17:18.
Twelve minutes until the end of the workday. From his 19th-floor glass office, Nick watches Bangkok morph into one massive traffic jam. The tollway above Rama 6 Road is already packing with cars, which means his drive to Pattaya will take at least two hours. His brand-new SUV is waiting in the parking lot, fueled and ready—just like every single Friday for the past few years.
The door opens, and his stunningly beautiful colleague, Dear, walks in. Every time Nick sees her, his breath catches. He stutters like a teenager, and the sound of her voice gives him ASMR-level goosebumps.
”Nick, are you coming with us for moo krata tonight?”
Nick completely forgot about the office dinner at Rama 3. But it’s incredibly far, and he knows his colleagues will just block him from sitting next to Dear anyway.
“Oh, no, sorry… I’m going to Rayong for the weekend.”
Dear crosses her arms. “Nick, I’ve worked here for a year, and every weekend you go to Rayong. Why never anywhere else?”
“Well… the sea… and my friends are there.”
By 17:32, Nick is in his car. His Pattaya hotel—the exact same one he always uses—has been booked since Monday, the day after he returned from his last trip.
Two hours later, he walks into the lobby. The doorman gives him a familiar nod. The receptionist beams, “Welcome back, Mr. Nick,” and hands him his keycard. Nick takes a quick shower and checks his watch.
20:30. He has an hour and a half before he meets Bee, a girl from a go-go bar he’s known for a long time.
He steps out and hits a quiet corner bar on the soi. He vaguely recognizes the waitress who brings his beer. He gives a curt nod, signaling he isn’t here to chat. Before he can even finish half his bottle, a heavily drunk farang slides into the next seat, eager to impart his wisdom.
“Listen buddy, you look new here. Let me tell you how things really work…”
Nick sighs internally. He puts on a thick, confused accent.
“Me no understand. I Slovenia. No speak English.”
It’s a trick he’s used flawlessly for five years to avoid interacting with other expats. He leaves his beer unfinished, pays, and walks out.
Bee looks gorgeous, as always. A modest dress, light makeup.
“How’s your dad?” Nick asks, knowing the old man has issues.
“Not better,” Bee replies. There is no point in hiding things; they know each other too well. If she didn’t tell him, he’d find out from her friends anyway.
“Aren’t you working tonight?”
“I was supposed to,” Bee smiles, “but I paid my own barfine today. I didn’t want you spending your money. Are we still going to the orphanage tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, just like we agreed.”
Saturday morning, they wake up, grab breakfast, and drive to Bee’s apartment to pick up the donations she and her friend prepared. They pack the SUV to the roof with snacks and sweets, pick up two of her friends, and hit the road. The kids are thrilled. The girls are happy.
Back in Pattaya, Nick drops everyone off. Bee literally drags him out of the car and into her room. Twenty-five minutes later, Nick walks out, fixing his shirt.
“How are you doing with money?” he asks.
“Go away, you Bangkok rich guy,” Bee laughs playfully. “Everything is fine. If I have problems, you’ll be the first to know.”
Nick waves and heads back to his hotel. Watching him leave, Bee genuinely wonders if this is what real love feels like.
Saturday night. No plans. Nick heads to Walking Street.
In the first go-go, the Mamasan—who is about ten years older than him—immediately pulls him into a hug.
“How are you, Kung?” Nick asks.
“I’m good! Do you have a girlfriend now, Nick? I haven’t seen you in two months!”
Nick just laughs and walks out.
In the next go-go, a girl immediately slides up to him. “Hi, Nick.”
He was with her a week ago. She got blackout drunk and puked all over his hotel bathroom. He isn’t interested in a sequel, so he moves on to the next spot.
Here, things are much better. A new, young, slender girl named Aon smiles at him from the stage. Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap. Two of Nick’s old acquaintances walk over. One of them, Pen, leans in.
“Hey Nick, you’re heading back to Bangkok tomorrow like always, right? Can I get a ride around 1:00 PM? I have some business in the city.”
“Sure, Pen. I’ll pick you up. You still live in the same place?”
“Yeah, same place.” Pen winks at Aon. “Lucky you, sis. Take good care of him tonight.”
Sunday morning. Nick wakes up with Aon in his arms. He leaves 5,000 baht on the nightstand with a quick note and heads out to Thepprasit Road.
Down a small alley, his old friend Ploy has opened a Thai restaurant.
“How’s business, Ploy?”
“Oh, Niiick!” Ploy throws her arms around his neck and aggressively kisses his cheek, making sure all her staff sees she has a handsome farang lover.
“Glad you’re doing well, Ploy,” Nick smiles as plates of food magically appear in front of him. When he finishes, he leaves 500 baht on the table—even though Ploy flat-out refuses to take his money—and hurries back to the hotel.
Aon is already gone, but on the note he left, she has written her LINE ID and stamped it with a lipstick kiss. He grabs his bags, checks out, and drives to pick up Pen.
Pen opens her door and slowly looks him up and down.
“How was Aon? Did she exhaust you? Come here,” she says, beckoning him with one finger.
Thirty minutes later, they walk out of her room. He helps load her suitcase into the SUV, and they hit the highway to Bangkok.
When he drops her off in the city, Pen playfully bites her lip. “Should I pay for the taxi?”
Nick smacks her ass. “Get out of here.”
An hour later, Nick walks into his Bangkok condo. It is perfectly silent and as spotlessly clean as a hospital room. He drops his bags and immediately starts prepping them for next Friday.
To the bitter expats fighting in Facebook comments, Nick is a myth. To the moral crusaders, he is the ultimate villain. But in reality, Nick is simply the apex predator of the Pattaya ecosystem. He doesn’t buy sick buffaloes, he doesn’t build houses in Isaan, and he never, ever loses his mind over a bar girl.
Pattaya is a meat grinder that eventually breaks 99% of the men who step off the plane. But for the 1% who strip away the illusions and figure out the cold, hard formula, this city isn’t a trap. It’s an ATM that dispenses pure, unattached serotonin.
And Nick figured out the PIN code five years ago.
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