In light of all the recent press the terms "ass" and "Taser" are getting, I feel compelled to confess.
I've been tased on the ass.
It was Thailand. 2005. In a not-so-grimy guest house. I'd traveled solo on an overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok to meet up with my buddy Phil for a few days before he headed back home to Canada and I went south to Ko Tao.
As silly backpackers are wont to do before they go home, Phil wanted to pick up a few things before heading back to the first world. Bartering, the black market and a good exchange rate on the Baht. Somewhere between a really shady deal on a Louis Vuitton purse that "fell off the truck" and a ping pong show (yep, the kind of ping pong show you can only see in Patpong), Phil picked up a Taser.
Not the same kind of heavy duty Tasers the cops use to drive stun folks. More like the kind that's street legal Stateside.
The way I remember it, he was just itching to tase someone. We didn't have any friends in Bangkok at the time so I was the most likely candidate. I remember that I was wearing a green dress with a zipper down the side and my biggest concern was that some Taser bought off the street in Thailand was going to shock me to death in tandem with the zipper on my dress and my mother was going to have to repatriate a body that was charred to a crisp.
Long story short, I relented to a tasing, but only if Phil would agree to tase my bum. My thinking? It was the only place a scar or a burn or whatever would be unseen when I was in my bikini.
So there we were in some bright, white hotel room with two twin beds, watching TV. I hiked up my dress and that bastard actually tased my ass. Honestly, I didn't think he'd do it.
I Facebooked Phil yesterday and asked if he had a quote to offer about the whole thing. Here's what he said:
"I'd love to give you a quote if I could remember it more clearly. Ummmm, was this on the street when you were trying to taze that guy? Or back at the hotel?"
Funny, I barely remember trying to tase a guy on the street—then again, I'm sure I made Phil buy me a few buckets of SangSom and orange Fanta as payment. Had Phil been the "tasee" rather than the "tasor," he might actually have remembered the situation better.
His explanation for the fuzzy memory: "... it's a SangSom and beer change haze of picking up custom made suits and clandestine MSN chats." At least we agree on the SangSom.
Next time, Phil, I'll do the tasing, thank you very much. And maybe all that other stuff that happens in Thailand should stay in Thailand.