Technical difficulties

Last night I stayed at my favorite cafe, using the Internet and drinking sweet lemon tea, until about 5:45 when I realized "Oh, hey, I'm starting to get hungry, and I kind of have to pee. I should run to the supermarket really quickly and then head home to start preparing dinner, and relieve my bladder, of course."

Famous last words. What is that old adage that says that you should always be wearing clean, new, lovely underwear in the worst case scenario that something awful happens to you and doctors have to cut your clothes off? Nobody wants to be seen in their laundry-day grey, threadbare undies. In that same vein, I would say that a new, Vietnam-inspired adage would be: "Always go to the bathroom and have a snack before you go anywhere, because you never know how long any one event will take, due to unforeseen circumstances outside of your control." [Furthermore, what is that other adage about never going to the grocery store while hungry?]

Anyway, so I arrived at the supermarket and kept my items to a minimum, fully aware of my bladder and hunger situation. Tomatoes, morning glory, ground pork. Bam. Let's go. Ready to roll. I paid for my items, went out to the parking lot, got on my motorbike, and lo and behold, my bike wouldn't start. 6:15 PM.

I dragged it to the end of the sidewalk to get out of the way of everybody else with more competent, working modes of transportation. Key, ignition, gas, brake. Nothing. Just a sad, pathetic, grinding whine of "Please stop trying to start me, I'm in pain right now. Please put the key down and ask someone for help so you don't damage me any further."

I looked around desperately and saw plenty of people watching the foreigner struggling with the motorbike. Various people came over to try to help, speaking rapid Vietnamese, but all gave up when their solution of "Put the key in the ignition and start the vehicle" proved as useless as my own same solution. It was time to call in back-up. I telephoned Chi Hang and asked pitifully, "What should I do if my motorbike doesn't start?" She started laughing. "Maybe it's out of petrol? I'll come find you and bring you some petrol." Humiliated, we hung up. 6:30 PM.

Eventually someone came over, opened my gas tank, and shined a light in there to demonstrate that the bike was indeed out of gas. However, when I looked in, I saw plenty of liquid in the tank and tried to explain that I had filled up yesterday. There was no way I could be out of gas! The man stubbornly nodded that yes, I was really, truly out of gas. Fine. "My friend is coming," I said to him in Vietnamese.

6:55 PM. Chi Hang finally arrives with her son, An, in tow, holding a Sprite bottle filled with petrol. We open my gas tank, pour it in, and... nothing. Still the same whiny grinding noise of "Please stop!!! Take me to a mechanic and stop thinking that you know how to fix this!" At this point, I wasn't sure whether to be relieved that the problem indeed was not an empty gas tank (I didn't want to be the idiot foreigner who couldn't even remember to fill up my motorbike), or frustrated that the problem was not an empty gas tank that had such an easy solution.

7:05 PM. Chi Hang calls her mechanic, and he arrives a few minutes later. He tries to start my bike. Nothing. "Allison, you wait with my bike and An. I will take your bike with the mechanic to the shop." The mechanic gets on his bike, and Chi Hang gets on my bike (to walk it to his shop, which is allegedly very close). Mechanic's bike does not start. By this point, the whole situation (including my very full bladder and very hungry stomach) seems outrageously funny. Mechanic leaves his bike with me and An, and they take Chi Hang's bike and my bike to the shop.

An wants to practice his English while we wait. "Do you like..... Superman? Do you like........ zombies? Do you like......... ice cream? Do you like....... tigers? Do you like........... lights? Do you like.......... motorbikes?" He asked, practicing any possible noun that he had ever heard in English. Deep breaths. His mom is doing you a huge favor right now. Be polite. Humor him. It was hard, but we made it.

7:35 PM. They return with two functioning bikes. "What was wrong with it?" I asked Chi Hang. She wasn't sure, but said that he did something to it, and they were sure that it would work now. Dubiously, I got on, and it indeed worked. I thanked both Chi Hang and her mechanic friend profusely, and was ready to drive away, when the mechanic's bike still wouldn't start.

The punchline of the evening? "He forgot to fill it with petrol," Chi Hang told me.

We all went our separate ways- me to race home, use the bathroom, and finally prepare the dinner that I had been salivating over; Chi Hang to take An to a birthday party; and the mechanic, Sprite bottle in hand, to walk to the nearest gas station to bring back some gas for his bike.

All's well that ends well, but the moral of the story is to never leave the house with even the vaguest sense of discomfort in your body's equilibrium. The tiniest bit hungry? Get a quick snack. Need to go to the bathroom only the slightest bit? Go anyway. A teeny bit cold? Grab a sweater.

These are the things that I learned while living in Vietnam.