A recurring story that is always talked about is a fable that we tell any new Viet-Kieu’s when they land on the green pastures of Saigon. Actually, it’s more like a cautionary tale of how things can get out of control if you’re not on top of your game.
Some time ago, the lads and I were having the time of our lives at Oscar Club. The whole facility was packed and all that we were able to manage at 1:00AM was a sub-mediocre table near the entrance. Regardless, we made it the best night ever. Time passes and I notice four very elegant and beautiful girls that stroll into the club like their shit don’t stank, with 50-60’s era hairstyles reminiscent of the rhythm and blues beehive hairstyle. Thus, we dubbed them, “Beehive Crew.” I was in love. I am always a sucker for a woman that can pull off a crazy do. It’s just in me, and it never ceases to impress me when I see a girl that has the courage to do this. Fast acting, I sensed that they did not have a table and were more or less waiting for one, and so I took the liberty to invite the girls to our table and have a drink. I had my eyes focused on the one with the most outlandish hairstyle and gave her a sly smile that’d wipe the grimace off Evil himself as I welcomed them all with a toast. There has only been one time before that I’ve been awestruck by a woman and that was with Ho Thuy Anh, a very, very infamous girl in Saigon. Beehive was beautiful to me, and even though she wasn’t endowed in the rack department, I could make an exception this one time. I deeply wanted to buzz around her, get my stinger in, and die a poetic death as a good bee should. In the words of my dear friend David, yes, I would eat her shit on a silver platter. Her demeanor was equally as attractive as she didn’t shy away from smiles and danced to her heart’s content. She was quite model-esque in all facets. Later on that night, the original MVP retrieves the group’s phone number. It didn’t matter who got it so long as WE had it in our possession.
Like a peregrine falcon spotting its prey, our very own El Capitan initiates contact with the oldest of the Beehive crew; the game had begun. I let El Capitan do his work on the group. I didn’t mind that much; building rapport is a full time job and at that time I didn’t have much time on my hands to devote to this majestic bird.
Months thereafter, I find myself fantasizing about how beautiful it would be if Ms. Beehive and I were a pair. I consult with the 8000 Miles Later crew and we come with a rough game plan and a budget. Women of this caliber are lavished with luxurious shopping sprees and pampered head-to-toe with no expenses spared. My cards are dealt: I don’t have a car or a lot of money. However, I was determined to try to play this high stakes game as best as I could. Admittedly, I knew the budget and the plan was a bit of a half-baked idea, but I had faith that love and sincerity could make up for any of my shortcomings.
I was driven by faith. I was a saint on a mission to conquer this heathen woman and bring her to the salvation accomplished through Viet-Kieu purgatory. Interactions with her went well. There were coffee dates, luncheons, and late night conversations about life that had me hopeful that things were going down the path of righteous consummation. I learned through our late night conversations that she was religious and attended mass once a week. This put me even more at ease. “A beautiful girl with moral standards?” I was blown away. And so, we made arrangements to go to church on Sunday. It seemed like a great, low-commitment idea that fit within my planned budget for her.
Church was mind-numbing and seemed to go on with no end in sight as I had no idea what the priest was saying. All I could really make out was God, Jesus, and Mother Mary. I went through the motions with the occasional kneeling, Hail Mary’s, and trying to sneak a look to find out if my girl’s rack was real or not as she closed her eyes to pray (fucking pasties). After service, I wanted to continue hanging out so I suggested we go have coffee at Shri.
Shri is a fairly well-known restaurant/lounge which is located on the top level of Centec tower. I’ve been there before and one of my buddies swears that the ramen there is one of the best in town. Being the ramen freak that I am, I figured I would be able to kill two birds with one stone; I can have a fantastic time with my beautiful lady friend and have delicious ramen. We were seated in the patio area and we talked about ourselves and reflected on Saigon life. The menu comes out and I scan the selections: zeros upon zeros whiz by as I navigate through and I locate my ramen which only a few zeros on the price. I was delighted to see that ramen was only 120,000 VN Dong, which is roughly six dollars. The menu goes to Beehive, she orders what I expect to be salad but I couldn’t quite make out what it was for certain. I didn’t think much of it.
Beehive and I were alone in our little corner in the patio having great conversation, both of us genuinely trying to listen to each other. I felt great. The food comes on a serving tray and I notice my ramen. I’m extra delighted and looked forward to eating. YAY! But that’s when I noticed another dish on the tray. I couldn’t make out what it was just yet, but I knew it was hers as there were no other patrons within our vicinity. The plate lands in front of her and I am startled, almost shocked. There it was: the lone lobster sitting in front of her that completely killed my buzz. It all came rushing back to me; all the lessons that I taught other Viet-Kieu’s about selecting restaurants where you can limit expensive dishes all blew up in my face. I calmed myself down as I knew the dish with the most zeros was the filet mignon steak, but I knew in my heart that lobster ain’t cheap. Like that lobster, I was boiling, silently cursing the dirty rotten whore that sat before me. I was in disbelief that my pure church-going prospect was a rodeo pro and on this night, she decided to ride this stallion for all he was worth.
I focused on my ramen, trying to enjoy it as best I could in the midst of my anger/panic/disgust, but really, ramen can’t taste that good when it’s juxtaposed to a goddamn lobster that I was paying for and not eating. The situation would have been relieved if she offered me some but of course, she didn’t. ARRRGGGGHHH!!! “The audacity,” I thought. Who the fuck does that? This was shit I heard about and now it was really happening to me. I wouldn’t mind if what she ordered was reasonably more expensive than mine or if I announced I wanted to take her out for lobster. A lobster dinner is one of those monumental things alongside a hot air balloon ride or touring the city in a helicopter that’s reserved for a special outing between couples that have shared bodily fluids already, not for this night when I’m wearing a t-shirt trying to learn more about my prospect’s family life. I finished my ramen, feigned a stomachache, and went to the restroom to try clear my thoughts. I counted my cash, and most importantly, calm myself down. When I realized that I did not bring enough money, I called El Capitan who happened to be at basketball. The plan was that he’d meet me in the restroom and drop off some more money so I could pay the bill. I broke the cardinal rule: I didn’t come prepared.
I get back to the table and resume conversation. It was really more of an Oscar-worthy acting performance of not trying to seem frazzled. We talked normally about a possible photography project that I had in mind for her. I feel my balls vibrate; it’s my phone. I excuse myself to the restroom again and at this point, she probably thought I had a terrible case of diarrhea.
When my knight in shining armor arrives, he hands over the money and proceeds to tell me that I fucked up on taking her to his particular restaurant and we agree we’ll have to talk later. I came back to the dining table with a seemingly renewed stomach as we proceeded with a dessert course. At this point, my resolve is weakened and I decide to just let the money run. I was a demoralized man with no will to fight. We continue our conversation and I decide it’s time to leave. On the way from the dining table to the bathroom, I check the price of lobster; it was 10 times more than my ramen. Shrug. Once the check is handled, we hop into the taxi and we continue with our conversation. After I dropped her off, a huge wave of relief comes over me and I’m just happy that this whole ordeal was over.
News spreads like a bad case of gonorrhea and all the guys at basketball hear about my lobster story. On the way home, I get random texts from guys that hear the lobster story and I just smirk. In the grand scheme of things, it was never about the money as much as it was about the principles of modesty and being within reason.
In the end, I never got the girl. To make matters worse, I later find out that she boned my other friend who happens to be a very persistent and rich guy. Weeks after that, I come to find out she is also on dates with my other baller friend. Truth be told, I was bummed. I took things personally. Normally, things like this wouldn’t faze me and I knew a girl of this caliber most definitely always have guys on the side supporting them. This time, it was just different. These were guys I knew and respected and considered friends. I wasn’t bummed out that my buddies bested me but more so bummed out from the realization that even a “church girl” in Saigon can be a rotten bitch.
Even rock gods like Rod Stewart talk about the hardships of being the “other guy” and I was getting a taste of it. Sometimes you win and sometimes you don’t; it’s part of life. But through this experience I learned some valuable lessons. The think-tank group of guys here at 8000 Miles Later don’t have all the answers, but we’re trying. I don’t hold any animosity towards Beehive. Now, I just laugh at the story when I have to retell it. But, I will admit that whenever anyone mentions lobster, my testes shrivel.
John
No comments:
Post a Comment