Chicken Farang (Racism Alert!)

I’ve been living in Bangkok for 4.5 years now. I’ve had multiple scam attempts over time — most of which I could avoid. I lived over 3 years in Asok and now elsewhere, but in the past year and a half I’ve noticed a recurring pattern: most of the scam attempts I personally experience are from Indian or Pakistani men. I know it’s sensitive to say, and I’m not generalizing — just reporting my personal experience.

The story I want to share today isn’t the usual “you’re fat, bald, buy my miracle product” scam — which I’ve encountered before too.

This time, a man came up to me while I was walking. He looked like he was about to faint — sweaty, trembling, and showed me a wound on his arm. It looked real. Gross, even painful to see. He told me he needed medicine and asked for 900 baht.

I told him, “Alright, I’ll buy you the medicine — but I’m not giving you any cash.”

From the beginning, I felt this could be a scam. But I walked with him to the nearest pharmacy anyway. Of course, it was closed. He must have known that.

Meanwhile, my girlfriend was standing at a distance — we were waiting for some street food — and she pointed out a second man nearby, watching the situation closely. That’s when it hit me: something was off.

I approached the second man and said:

“I hope karma brings you the worst illnesses this world has to offer. This is a scam, and now we’re going to the police.”

He just stood there — calm, almost indifferent. The first guy looked scared, almost helpless. The second one? Like the boss. Cold and relaxed.

They pretended not to know each other, but their body language betrayed them. There were moments they exchanged glances, small gestures — like they were connected. I blocked them and said:

“Let’s go to the police and check your visa status. Let’s see if everything’s okay.”

They returned the 1,000 baht and quickly disappeared.

And here’s what’s really been on my mind: If the scam is about getting money through pity, why is there a second guy? Why is he just standing there, watching? It started to feel like something bigger. Like maybe the first guy wasn’t acting on his own. Maybe he’s being watched. Controlled. Used. He didn’t act like a confident scammer. He acted like someone afraid. Meanwhile, the second guy — like someone overseeing an operation.

Honestly, it made me wonder: is this organized? Is someone taking a cut from the money? Making sure the “actor” follows the script?

One more thing: every person involved in this story — the one who approached me, the one standing nearby — looked Indian or Pakistani. Just like in the vast majority of the scam attempts I’ve personally experienced in Bangkok.

The worst part? That wound looked real. The sweat looked real. The performance was meant to break your heart — and it almost did.

Selling miracle bottles on the street? Whatever. But faking injury and illness to steal empathy? That’s absolutely shameful.

I walked away not just angry — but genuinely sad.