🛺💎 The Premier Sapphire Factory Export Center

My car was broken into again. That’s two times in ten days. No smashed windows, no alarm—just the quiet violation of someone rummaging through my things while the world slept.

The first time, they left everything in disarray but didn’t take anything—probably because there wasn’t anything of value to take. This time, they upped the ante. Drained the battery somehow, so I had to call for a tow. And this time, they left me a gift: a pile of break-in tools, a handful of keys, and a burnt glass pipe—clear evidence of drug use.

One of the keys belongs to a mailbox right here on the property.

Now, maybe that mailbox key belonged to another victim—someone who, like me, was just unlucky. But another thought lingers in the back of my mind: Have I found the perpetrator? Did they break into my car… and unknowingly leave behind a trail that leads right back to them?

I filed a police report, more for the paper trail than out of any expectation. I’ve played this game before. The complex says there’s security at night, but I’ve yet to see a soul. Not even a flashlight beam in the dark.

And here’s the thing—this is the part that stings a little deeper: I want to believe these people are my neighbors. I want Nomad Santa to say that. But I’m struggling.

Part of me wants to shake them by the shoulders and shout, “Can’t you find something better to do with your life?” Another part of me thinks of all the scam calls, the phishing emails, the fake tech support lines targeting seniors (like me). There’s this rising tide of desperation masquerading as hustle.

“Get a job,” people say. But what if your mind is swimming in chemicals? What if your past has anchored you to the bottom? What if your “Sitz im Leben”—your place in life—is a storm-damaged raft drifting with no land in sight?

Homelessness. Addiction. Mental illness. It’s a mess we haven’t figured out yet. A wicked, tangled problem.

And I—Nomad Santa—sit here with a handful of someone else’s keys, wondering what door they no longer open.

I’m angry. But I’m also sad. And maybe a little tired.

But I’m not giving up. Not on my neighbors. Not yet.

This is Nomad Santa, reminding you: In this small world, we’re all neighbors.

A Nomad Santa Reflection

Bangkok. Hot, loud, alive. The kind of city that hums under your skin.

I was only there a few short hours — layover before returning home, I decided to explore the city the way most tourists do: with wide eyes and one foot always just a little off the beaten path.

That’s when I heard about it.

“This week only — the Premier Sapphire Factory Export Center is open to the public!”

Sounded exclusive. Government-sanctioned. Rare. And the guy who told me? He seemed credible enough. Polite. Clean shirt. The kind of English that’s just good enough to win your trust.

An inexpensive tuk-tuk ride later, I was standing outside a hastily assembled showroom — marble floors, suited attendants, lighting that made everything shimmer just a little too brightly.

Inside, rows of glass cases full of sapphires. Salespeople swarmed like bees to honey. “Sir, special price today only.”
“Export discount, don’t declare it, just wear it through American customs.”
“Buy now, value increase guaranteed, sapphires are about to become rare as the mines are exhausted.”

And for a moment, I thought if I had the money I probably would have bought it. Not the sapphire — the story.

But something tugged at me. Maybe it was the way the “certificate of authenticity” looked like it had been photocopied one too many times. Or how every “rare” stone seemed to be the same price. Or maybe it was just instinct — the old Santa sense tingling.

I smiled, backed away politely, and thanked them for their time.
Then I walked out and bought myself a street-side bookmark, instead.

Back at the hotel, a quick Google search told me everything I needed to know:

“The Premier Sapphire Factory Export Center scam: A well-known Bangkok tourist trap. You’re promised rare gems at duty-free prices. What you get is overpaying for polished glass.”

I didn’t lose money that day — just a little bit of ego. And I gained a good story.

We all want to believe in something special, something sparkly. But sometimes the real gem is knowing when to walk away.

It’s a small world—and we’re all neighbors. Some just shine a little too hard.