Yesterday marked Thailand’s Day of the Elderly, and if Thai customs have conditioned you just right, one of the most disconcerting sights you could possibly witness is of an elderly person still working. Our mentality that we should always care for our parents in old age makes us shudder at the reality of old folks still toiling away to make ends meet.
According to a report by the National Statistical Office of Thailand released in 2012, up to 3.4 million people over the age of 60 — out of the total number of 8.6 million — are still working. The majority of those still labouring are in the Northeast, followed by the North, Central, South and finally in Bangkok, with around 200,000 senior employees. Farming and fishing are the industries that have the highest percentage of elderly workers, at 60%, while sales and services come in second at 17%.
For many, life during the golden years isn’t exactly a golden picture anymore and the picture isn’t becoming any less bleak with the numbers of older people in the workforce growing every year. Thailand is becoming an ageing population faster than all our Southeast Asian neighbours; by 2025, according to World Health Organization, one in five people in Thailand will be a senior citizen.
The government’s measly living allowance for citizens over 60 years, which ranges from 600 baht to 900 baht per month, is hardly substantial. Without proper planning for saving during retirement, it is possible that poverty can come calling.
Life talks to three seniors who care for themselves and still work — either out of joy or out of necessity. They share with us their day-to-day life and some wise words to live by.
Wattana Sithikol.
WATTANA SITHIKOL, 67
Waiter
Wattana Sithikol, better known as Loong Wat, has been around jolly drinkers for decades of his working life at a hole-in-the-wall bar and nightclub, Check Inn 99 (on Sukhumvit Road between sois 5 and 7), and he is still working there today. As a 67-year-old waiter whose eyesight has seen better days, a little flashlight dangles from around his neck to help customers — and himself — see the writing on the menus in the dark. Thankfully, the image of an old man having to clean up vomit isn’t frequent, as the clientele that visits this establishment tend to be CEOs, local/expat couples, tourists and embassy types.
The waiter lets us in on a titbit: “Farangs really know how to hold their liquor, unlike Thai people, so they don’t throw up unless they have it really bad. Sometimes I drive them home on my motorcycle because we’re close and I know where they live.”
Little has changed throughout the four decades he has worked here, including his joy and enthusiasm for the job.
“Just have fun with it and don’t be serious about it,” Loong Wat advises others. “I’ve never worried about my wages at all since I was a young man. You’ll never have fun with work if your main obsession is your benefits. Let the small things go and end within that day. Don’t take it home with you and brood on it — think too much and you won’t be able to stay.”
For this somewhat financially-negligent attitude, Wattana has done beyond well and owes it all to sensible money management. He immediately turned his back on booze and partying once he had a family. He and his late wife managed to send all their three children to college to the point that they now all have families and jobs of their own, while insisting on him to stop working. In fact, this waiter’s life is quite a peach: he says he already has everything, with savings to fall back on and a house of his own. He’s only working because he doesn’t want to disturb his kids, even though they are more than eager to take care of him.
“Other staff might be more challenged, but with what I make here — 10,000 baht per month plus tips — I can live comfortably. I eat easily and hardly use money each day. I’m just happy to go to work, listen to music and meet friends at work.”
He adds: “I don’t think parents these days even expect your money — they just want to see you on your birthday. They don’t want money, just a garland of flowers is enough and that alone makes them happy.”
Early in the morning, his day usually starts with dropping off his daughter at work. What follows is some housework and a few hours of rest, before he heads to a local centre in the late afternoon to teach boxing to youngsters. Work at Check Inn 99 starts at 7pm and lasts until 1am in the morning, allowing him to head home by 2am. After waking up from slumber, the day then repeats itself and Wattana actually gets twitchy on days he doesn’t go to the bar. His day off is Sunday, but he finds himself coming to work anyway, even when he isn’t feeling well.
“I actually don’t know what to do with myself if I don’t come to work, because I don’t go anywhere,” he confesses. “I worry, too, if they’ll manage without me. My friends go out to drink but I don’t, so I don’t know why I would go. I don’t know what to do at home either, because I don’t want to watch the telly all day.”
He’s come a long way since the first days of work that date back to the Vietnam War. When Wattana started out, his monthly pay was 250 baht, but it was loose change that drunk GIs dropped or purposely left behind that gathered into a source of sustainable tips. Coupled with his day jobs at the bank or as a driver for big bosses, he has made himself a living that has led to a comfortable retirement.
The amiable waiter has always made it his priority to keep the guests’ interests at heart, rather than the bar owner, and he tries to look out for them the best he can. After all, he realises that if guests aren’t happy, they wouldn’t return, which could lead to bad business and possible layoffs. It has led to him becoming a favourite among visitors — and will continue to be so as he continues working at Check Inn 99. And what does he answer when guests ask him why he still works at his age?
“I just try to be funny about it, like ‘Oh my household kicked me out’ or ‘My wife won’t have me anymore’. We have fun laughing and the guests enjoy themselves.” It’s good to know that couldn't be farther from the truth.
Chaoon Aiamchu.
CHAOON AIAMCHU
Songthaew driver, 62
As someone who had just recently started receiving the government’s allowance for the elderly, Chaoon Aiamchu, Post Publishing’s songthaew driver, intends for it to go straight to the bank. “I want to save it and work while I still can. Six hundred baht is gone almost instantly — we don’t live in the olden days anymore when everything wasn’t expensive. My voice alone isn’t going to make any difference, but I think 1,000 baht would have been more helpful.”
With no plans whatsoever, the shuttle driver’s not quite sure what he would do if he could not work any longer. “I hadn’t thought about [retirement] at all, because it’s hard enough surviving today. There are a group of people who have saved up and that was a good plan to begin with, but my last hope is this government allowance. Maybe I’ll take out [life] insurance — those 9 baht ones in the ads — so I don’t have to be a burden to anyone.”
Behind the cheerful smile that Chaoon gives to Post Publishing employees every time they get on his songthaew is a mound of responsibilities he has carried for a long time. For him, this job of driving the pick-up shuttle from early morning till late at night is mandatory. Any day off means he would be 400 baht poorer. With two high school kids and wife to still support, there is little left for frivolous spending.
Although his grown-up children from his previous marriage send him money once in a while, he has never hoped to depend on them.
“They have their own responsibilities too, so I’m always thinking of how to help myself. I’ve done a lot of work, but it’s hard to have any left to save. The worse case scenario is just I open my wallet and there’s no money there. I can get 500 baht or 1,000 baht advanced here though, so that’s the end of it.”
At 62, he still seems healthy enough and his job of driving the shuttle is much less stressful and tiring compared to his previous days as a taxi driver and Klong Toey delivery man. It was the floods of 2011 that eventually steered him to getting a job at Post Publishing as taxi operators were reluctant to lease out their cars during the event of a natural disaster.
It’s a mundane job, but at least it offers moments of rest in between the pick-up rounds.
“It’s boring to drive the same old route every single day, but it’s more stable compared to those unpredictable days when I drove cabs, so it’s somewhat better. I’m guessing that it’s all too late anyway, unless I win the lottery.”
VIRASAK PHETUBOL
Security guard, 69
“It’s better than sitting around doing nothing,” Virasak says, referring to his security job he’s had for almost a year. “I’ve liked to work all my life, so I’m not bored.”
Virasak Phetubol.
The CM Futsal Club at Phuttamonton Sai 1 that he watches over is only one songthaew stop away from his own house, making it easy for him to get to work, despite his hours of 6pm to 6am. For 8,000 baht per month, Virasak doesn’t have much to sweat about: he walks around to keep things in check and if anything is wrong or broken, he just reports to the owners of the futsal field. It’s a much easier-going gig compared to his previous stint of babysitting children for 100 baht a day, even if he does like children.
“I don’t exactly like it, but I don’t hate it either,” he answers, when asked about this occupation. “It’s something I don’t mind doing. What else can I do? I’m old and I’m happy with it if it’s not arduous. I don’t want to be sweating, responsible for a lot and breaking my back over it.” The thing he does enjoy is planting and taking care of the shrubs at the club. The Yasothorn native proudly says: “They were all dry and small when I just got here, but now it’s nice and green. I like growing stuff, so it’s nice.” When the space closes at 2am, he gets a little bit of snooze, before some Vietnamese and Lao kids come in to play ball after their restaurant shifts at about 3am. By 6am he can head home and if he’s not sleepy, he’ll go to his own garden to water his vegetables and mango tree. “When you’re old, you don’t sleep very much,” he says.
Sometimes the 8,000 baht is enough and sometimes it isn’t. Virasak’s daughter in the countryside sometimes sends rice and money when she has extra. The rice is sometimes even shared with neighbours, as the greying security guard and his wife couldn’t possibly finish it themselves. With the 30 baht healthcare card, visits to the dentist and monthly check-ups for blood pressure are taken care of, should health become an obstacle.
“I don’t hope to depend on my daughters — I can still support myself, even though they ask me to stop working. If we come to a dead end where we can’t work anymore, I guess we’ll have to sell that empty piece of land that we use to grow vegetables,” he explains.
“I’ve always liked to work since I lived in the countryside. I had moved to the city to sell my labour, picking up various jobs until I got an admin job at Cat Telecom until I retired. You just need to know how to use your money.”
