Have you ever tried to imagine what the best job in the world would be like? After I've been robbed, I decided it's time to do something with myself. While browsing through the multitude of offers available on Koh Chang, I found what was probably the best job in the world.

My responsibilities consisted of sitting on my ass and drinking Thai beer. And I got paid to do it.

After the beach incident, I had to come up with a new plan. First thing's first—I needed to get some cash in hand. Luckily my buddy Derek was around at the time, and he also had a Revolut account. I sent him five hundred dollars, which he received instantly and paid out the cash for me minus the commission of the Thai ATM.

Still, I had to wait for up to three weeks until the new card arrived. Instead of doing nothing, I decided to get a real-life job. I was thinking about working on the street, but considering my face looks like a bucket of smashed crabs, I probably wouldn't see much action.

The only way out was to find some legit side-hustle that doesn't involve selling my body for money. Turns out, I had more than one option.

Job numero uno. The first opportunity was a waiter gig at the Zap. Derek knew the owner. The only requirement was a strong head and fluent English. There was no salary, but you could keep the tips. They also offered free food, a place to sleep, and free drinks. Not bad at all, but I thought I could find something better.

Job numero dos. The second job came up by accident. I met up with Derek, and we went to our favorite beach, just to hang out. We walked around for a while, and to our surprise, we met a guy who was making a huge sand sculpture. It depicted a woman with enormous tits. The sculptor was pretty talented too. We struck up a conversation. His name was Will. The beach and big tits were some of his biggest passions.

The guy came from South Africa to Koh Chang about four years ago. He had a Thai wife and a little kid here. He owned a tiny beach bar and thought a sand sculpture would be a good conversation piece to lure clients in. To be frank, it worked on us. We sat down to have a beer with him.

A word about the beach bars—on Koh Chang, there's a beach bar every twenty feet, and they are all pretty much empty, outside of peak season. There's just too much competition, and most tourists choose the bars along the main road. You really need to be on top of your game to make a profit here.

We were the only customers there. Will was a nice guy who loved smoking weed with passion. Just like we did. He told us all about his life in South Africa and here in Thailand. He had a 10-year lease of the beach spot from the a local Thai businessman.

We've had a couple of beers, and it was getting dark. Several more backpackers appeared, and we had a decent beach party going on there. Fast-forward three hours, and I was so fucking shplonkered from smoking weed and drinking beer that Derek decided we have to get me home, or I might puke on someone again (another story). He said our goodbyes and we called it a night.

The morning after. I opened my eyes to an empty, unfamiliar ceiling. I could only see a single disgusting lightbulb dangling up above me. Its light was killing me. Where was I?

Turns out, I was so drunk that Derek wasn't confident enough in my abilities to get back alone to my hotel, so he took me in and went on to party and later sleep with his neighbor. Derek was the kind of guy that always got your back.

We went out to eat and had a beer to kill the hangover. It was going to be a rainy day. I promised myself that if I don't find a new occupation in the next two days, I'll take the job as a waiter at the Zap. And you know, I'm really not the waiter-type.

We did jack shit until it got late again. Bored and hungover out of our minds, we decided to see how Will is doing.

We got to the beach bar and saw Will sitting alone with a massive grin on his face. Once he saw us, he started fixing us some iced Bloody Marys.

He told us that last night had been one of his best nights of the month. His bar made a decent profit. To be fair, I probably had a dozen beers. Will had a crazy idea.

He offered us both jobs. The best jobs in the world. We were supposed to sit with him and drink beer. You heard me right. Sit on our asses and drink beer. And we would get paid for doing that.

The job wasn't hard, and I'm sure for many, it would be the dream job. According to Will, we were real tourist magnets. We were both white, dressed decently, and looked like we came from money.

The beer! We would sit at the bar, talk with him and the other guests, and pour insane amounts of beer down our throats. Every day from seven p.m. until midnight. He also offered us a place to sleep at his house nearby and a ten-dollar daily salary. We negotiated a bit and managed to strike a deal. Instead of money, each of us would get an eighth of weed every morning. We'd rather take the weed as we didn't have proper connections on the island.

In the mornings, we would get stoned and fuck around on the beach. In the afternoons, we would help Will get the beer from the supplier back to the beach bar. In the evenings we would get wasted again.

All in all, the plan worked out well both for him and for us. After a week, he expanded his venture into hiring some ladies of the night who would hung out at his bar, too, and that turned out to be even more profitable and attracted a vastly different kind of clientele.

I "worked" there for two weeks and gained ten pounds of beer muscle. I stopped being hungover, which is never a good sign. At any given time, I was either high or drunk. I met a few nice girls, and in general had the time of my life.

Conversations at the bar. I spent countless hours talking to Will. Still can't entirely figure the guy out, but he was always kind to us. He liked to talk a lot. I guess that's why he was running a bar. Some of his best stories were shared when he was drunk. I will never forget this one in particular.

— Listen to this, Kemo.

— I'm all ears.

— Years ago, I worked in London. It wasn't the best job in the world. I was organizing bus tour guides for tourists and accommodating them in hotels. One day we were supposed to do a day-tour to Whitstable. We boarded the bus, and I started talking to the passengers about the usual boring sightseeing stuff. Right away something felt off about the bus. The driver was speeding like crazy, sometimes driving on the wrong side of the road. People started panicking. Suddenly my phone rang. It was the driver!

— Did somebody kidnap you?

— No. Listen. I decided to act. I ran to the front of the bus, almost falling when the driver took a sharp turn. When I was close to the front, I started shouting, ordering the guy to stop. I was afraid it was a terrorist or something like that. I felt responsible for these people.

— So what happened next?

— Surprisingly he slowed down and stopped immediately. Then he looked at me with a blank stare and told me in broken English that he isn't really the driver and that, in fact, he doesn't even have a driver's license. Turns out, he was just a completely knackered Polish dude who wanted to drive a bus for once.

A few years later, I came back to Koh Chang, but I couldn't find neither Will nor his beach bar.

There's one more thing. One of these nights, when I was "working" at the bar, Chloe messaged me. She was still on the island and wanted to catch up. But that's a story for another time.

That time when I was on a downward spiral