14/06/2026
Simon considered himself a master strategist of budget travel. While weaker-minded tourists wasted money on airport transfers, taxis, and basic digestive safety, Simon had discovered the ultimate financial hack: a Bangkok-to-Pattaya bus ticket and a 25-baht cup of extra-spicy noodles purchased from a terminal vendor whose food hygiene standards appeared to be based entirely on optimism.
For the first hour, everything seemed fine. Simon sat proudly aboard the Pattaya-bound bus, slurping noodles and silently judging passengers who had paid triple the price for sandwiches and bottled drinks. It was, in his mind, a masterclass in travel economics. A truly pathetic display of fiscal discipline elevated to an art form.
Then came the first scheduled stop.
As the bus doors opened, Simon launched himself down the aisle like a man responding to a natural disaster warning. Clutching his stomach in one hand and his half-eaten noodles in the other, he sprinted across the terminal with sweat pouring from his face. His expression suggested a man desperately negotiating with both fate and several compromised internal organs. A suspicious brown stain had begun spreading across the back of his shorts, strongly indicating those negotiations were not progressing well.
Meanwhile, the remaining passengers calmly disembarked for snacks, coffee, and toilet breaks at a pace normally associated with retirement villages.
Simon disappeared into the restroom at full speed, carrying the very noodles responsible for his predicament. Because if there was one thing he refused to waste, it was food.
The 25 baht he saved that day was eventually offset by several years of psychological trauma, but from a purely accounting perspective, the tightarse still considered it a victory.
