Dave’s eyes were filled with tears. That, in itself, was not unusual. For a strapping hunk who epitomized the macho version of masculinity, his eyes peed a lot. And often. Even happy moments could result in waterworks where Dave was concerned. Smiling through his tears, he lived life in a constant state of emotion. But this time his usual infectious smile had fled his face leaving behind no traces it had ever been there. I’d answered his hurried knock on our hotel room’s door expecting nothing more than the usual ball of energy that announced his presence in a room. The tempest that swept in instead was unexpected. He’d only been gone for a few minutes. He’d only made a quick trip down to the closest Family Mart to pick up yet another six pack of beer. There’d hardly been enough time for trouble to find him. Even for Dave.

Real men don’t cry. Or at least those who profess to be manly straight guys don’t. Dave had never managed to convince me that his claims of being a breeder were true. Though there were other tells that convinced me otherwise, his propensity for crying at the drop of a hat added had always aroused my suspicions. But he usually started blubbering like a little girl due to some tenderhearted moment; the hero rescuing the damsel in distress in Hollywood’s latest blockbuster, Bambi’s mother meeting the wrong end of a shot gun, or even a patriotic moment like the playing of the national anthem at a sporting event. With Dave, tears of pain, tears of agony, tears from frustration and unfairness were not the norm.

In between his loud gulping of air, his body’s attempt to calm itself, he poured out his tale of woe. Dave, an American, a giant among men, a wise world traveller of some renown, and above all things just being Dave – which the world was suppose to recognize and rightfully pay him his due – had been laid low on the teeming streets of Bangkok by a gaggle of locals, diminutive doll-like Thais who in this instance had been dressed in brown. It wasn’t just the blow to his ego that caused the tears to flood down his face, it was the injustice suffered at the hands of those charged with bringing justice in this strange land too.

Warnings abound these days about the Boys In Brown on the prowl, streaming through Bangkok’s streets in search of opportunity to add to their week’s take of tea money. When walking through areas heavily trafficked by tourist these days, like a midget at a urinal you need to be on your toes. In the Middle East, baksheesh is a well-known part of daily life. It is as common in Thailand where corruption and graft is a normal part of doing business, but though Thais have assimilated the idea into their society – stealing from other cultures being one of their favorite pastimes – they’ve yet to come up with a local, Thai sounding word for farang to use that encompasses monetary donations to those in authority that works quite as well. Tea money sounds too western and too innocuous. But then the amount of baht involved is usually as petty as the phrase sounds.

Twenty years ago being preyed upon by the local police in the pursuit of baht justified by the uniform they wore was not unheard of. But it wasn’t as common as it is today either. As a vising farang contributing much needed touri dollars to the local economy there was always some protection from becoming a victim of official corruption. But Dave had just done his part in assisting that statistic to rise. And a hunk of his cash had just gone up in smoke. Thanks to his habit of smoking.

A drunk, a drug user, a smoker, a porn addict, Dave proudly wore those labels rather than attempt to claim they were not true. But he had standards. A litter-bug he was not. He even went as far as filling one of the pockets of his jeans with cigarette butts when out for the day rather than throwing stubs to the ground. It was a small ecological effort, not worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize, nor did he expect a pat on the back for not adding to the debris that fills Bangkok’s streets like teeth under a meth addict’s pillow. But then he didn’t expect to get busted for littering as a reward either.

A block and a half trip down Sukhumvit to the local convenience store was all it had taken for Dave to run afoul of the law. The cops had noticed he was smoking and made the fairly safe assumption that he’d tossed a butt away after the final drag on a ciggy. Two of them swooped in, leveled their littering charges, and demanded 2,000 baht as a fine. Dave’s initial reaction was to laugh. They were obviously mistaken,. And that these two little guys – who if one stood on the shoulders of the other would still fall short of Dave’s height – had decided to take him on was both preposterous and humorous. Laughing at a cop in Thailand is not a recommended technique to use in settling your differences. Telling any Thai that he is wrong is not much better.

The offense would have been greater in Dave’s estimation if he’d not already bought his beer. I too thanked the gods for that small favor. Separating an alcoholic from filling his immediate need of sustenance is never a pretty picture. But that purchase had left Dave with just a few hundred baht in his pocket and the boys in brown were interested in a few more zeros for their take. Growing more upset by the minute, Dave had tried reasoning with them. He’d tried explaining that he did not litter; he’d even shown them his evidence pulling out a small handful of cigarette butts from his pocket. Truth and justice were on his side. But then the cops were not seeking truth, justice was not what they were after. Baht was. And they undoubtedly thought Dave’s protestations were nothing more than an opening attempt at haggling the price of his fine down.

It wasn’t until he’d emptied his pockets and the cops had demanded to look in his wallet that they realized their bad luck in nabbing a farang scofflaw who had only a few hundred baht on him. The truth of his lack of wealth was evident, the truth of his lack of littering was of no concern. But tea money is tea money and a few hundred baht was more than they had a few minutes before so they confiscated the contents of his wallet and sent him on his way. Back to the hotel where instead of the ice cold beer I was expecting I got to deal with a 6’4” 260 lb. crying baby.

You’d think as much time as I’ve spent in The Land of Smiles, I’d have numerous stories of run-ins with the Boys in Brown. As much time as I’ve spent in and around Patpong – where now they even have signs posted warning of both littering and jaywalking fines – that I would have dropped a few thousand baht into the country’s kitty by now. But that is yet an experience that I have not had first hand. Thanks to Dave, I am careful about where I throw my cigarette butts. I know better than to toss them on the ground. As a farang, doing so is just asking to be relieved of 2,000 in tea money. So instead when I take the last drag off a smoke I flick the burning head off and hand the butt to my friend Noom. And then he throws it on the ground. In Thailand, there are benefits to being a Thai.