Making it Rain

December 31^st, 2008 - I was preparing to meet up with my friend and his girlfriend up at a club called 69 (which has since been renamed to MZ Bar). It was my first time in Vietnam and my first time going to a club in Vietnam. I didn’t realize that tonight, my cherry would be popped like a horny sixth grader at band camp.

I was ushered into the club by jovial security guards who looked like they’d answer to my every whim. The music was deafening, the crowd was raucous; my kind of people, I thought. So, I got to our table and saw the bottle of Remy Martin staring me dead in the eye. Our waiter began pouring out the shots and I remember looking at the small half-shot sized glasses and scoffing. This story will now have to be all hearsay because somewhere during the night, I blacked out and “MVP” took over.

According to recollections of the night given to me by my friend and his girlfriend, supposedly I was having the time of my life, drinking my life away like Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, and just overall making a fool of myself. I then proceeded to think I was Lil’ Wayne and grabbed a wad of the Monopoly money that is Vietnam dong and made it rain. I gave money to whoever was around me like they had played a big role in my life, which includes the PR girls who were working there. Naturally, like bees to honey, the girls flocked to the table of the fool who was giving money away. I had about 6-7 girls around our table, trying to get in on the action, and probably ready to go home with me if I desired so. I was just ready to leave. The check came out, and I threw whatever money I hadn’t squandered away to my friend’s girlfriend, and the bill was taken care of. I then somehow stumbled my way outside to across the street all the while my friend and his girlfriend were yelling at me from in front of the club: “Which one of these girls do you want to take home?” I distinctively remembered saying, “Dude, I can’t even get my dick hard. How am I supposed to fuck anyone?”

Fast forward to the morning after, I’m in pain and waking up in a dark and apocalyptic-looking hotel room that’s not mine. I stumble into the bathroom and there’s vomit everywhere. I’m overcome by fear. I call my friend and it turns out he had to get me a room at their hotel and they were just upstairs. Somehow, I make it up to their room to get whatever money I had left that they were holding, handled the hotel bill, and plumped into a taxi to go back to my hotel. Then on January 1^st, 2009, I slept the day away.

I extended my trip and stayed by myself for another week in hopes that I would be able experience any remnants of that night or something like it. That week turned out to be just a secluded recovery period. I didn’t know when I’d be back. Now, it’s interesting to be sitting here writing this, living here as long as I have, and stuck in this land of the lotus-eaters. But fuck, I’m enjoying every second of it.

David Lam