A day begins....
Today's Tuesday, and yet, I'll be writing about my Saturday morning.
Or at least, that is where we will begin. Not where the story begins, if there is a story to be found within my ramblings. Is there a beginning, middle and ending which carefully wraps up every detail given and can simultaneously provide closure and provoke further thought?
Not bloody likely.
I woke up in a pile of my own drool in my own bed. My phone was ringing, though in this day and age a more appropriate word might be "singing." It's a new phone and it sings some random Vietnamese tune. I don't know the name of the tune, nor do I want to. Suffice to say, my phone doesn't ring. It sings. And it sang that Saturday morning.
A quick glimpse told me that it was one of my schools calling. A quick thought told me that it was probably a receptionist, because A. it was in the morning and B. there was no reason anyone should be calling me.
It was Thao, a receptionist whose had a crush on me for the last 6 months running. I won't go into great detail as to how or why I know this. It's enough to say that when people tend to drop things in your presence, stammer and turn strangely red without the presence of alcohol, even a big lughead like me can get the picture.
Me: Hello.
Thao: Hello, teacher. What are you doing?
Me: Sleeping. I'm going back to bed right now.
Thao: Who are you sleeping with?
Me: What? I'm sleeping with Mr. Pillow and Mrs. Blanket. Good night.
That was quite the forward thing. Vietnamese society is heavily stratified, and I'm more aware of this than most people. Most of my friends are teachers and expats, and the only Vietnamese people they are wont to socialize with are the rich and powerful. It is rare that they spend much time with their receptionists, their cooks or cleaning ladies.
The rich and powerful don't talk openly about casual sex, but it happens. More than you'd think, but less than you'd expect, if that makes any sense. BUT, with the lower classes, it never happens. They live in cramped quarters packed wall to wall with bodies. And in so doing, it's very rare that they ever talk about casual sex. Especially with the power disparity between a teacher and a receptionist. This sort of stuff is just never done.
I'm lucky in that I do spend a lot of time with my staff. They worry that I'm lonely constantly living with foreigners and share their lunches with me. They never have enough but they always invite me to share. Apparently, 5 staff members pooling their lunches together can create a 6th portion for me. While I write this, I realize that they've always saved the best portions for me.
All I ever do to repay them is to buy lunch, desert and pastries from time to time, and crack my jokes and serve my uniqure comedy stylings. Is it enough? I haven't heard many complaints.
So Saturday passed, and Sunday evening I found myself alone in an empty school at 7pm. I was reading comic books having accidentally downloaded more than I meant to read that night, and was caught in a vicious cycle of "just one more." The same sort of problem that bedevils late night snackers of potato chips and cookies.
And then the phone rang in the teacher's lounge. And it was Thao.
"I'm downstairs, teacher. What are you doing?"
"Reading comic books."
"I'm coming upstairs. WHen will you be finished?"
"5 or ten minutes."
"Then can you take me out?"
"No. I have got to the store and buy some groceries."
"Can I come with you?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
And so it continues for another 15 minutes until she finally agrees to leave.
Monday night, half an hour after my last class, I get a call from Thao. She's waiting for me downstairs.
*sigh*
Or at least, that is where we will begin. Not where the story begins, if there is a story to be found within my ramblings. Is there a beginning, middle and ending which carefully wraps up every detail given and can simultaneously provide closure and provoke further thought?
Not bloody likely.
I woke up in a pile of my own drool in my own bed. My phone was ringing, though in this day and age a more appropriate word might be "singing." It's a new phone and it sings some random Vietnamese tune. I don't know the name of the tune, nor do I want to. Suffice to say, my phone doesn't ring. It sings. And it sang that Saturday morning.
A quick glimpse told me that it was one of my schools calling. A quick thought told me that it was probably a receptionist, because A. it was in the morning and B. there was no reason anyone should be calling me.
It was Thao, a receptionist whose had a crush on me for the last 6 months running. I won't go into great detail as to how or why I know this. It's enough to say that when people tend to drop things in your presence, stammer and turn strangely red without the presence of alcohol, even a big lughead like me can get the picture.
Me: Hello.
Thao: Hello, teacher. What are you doing?
Me: Sleeping. I'm going back to bed right now.
Thao: Who are you sleeping with?
Me: What? I'm sleeping with Mr. Pillow and Mrs. Blanket. Good night.
That was quite the forward thing. Vietnamese society is heavily stratified, and I'm more aware of this than most people. Most of my friends are teachers and expats, and the only Vietnamese people they are wont to socialize with are the rich and powerful. It is rare that they spend much time with their receptionists, their cooks or cleaning ladies.
The rich and powerful don't talk openly about casual sex, but it happens. More than you'd think, but less than you'd expect, if that makes any sense. BUT, with the lower classes, it never happens. They live in cramped quarters packed wall to wall with bodies. And in so doing, it's very rare that they ever talk about casual sex. Especially with the power disparity between a teacher and a receptionist. This sort of stuff is just never done.
I'm lucky in that I do spend a lot of time with my staff. They worry that I'm lonely constantly living with foreigners and share their lunches with me. They never have enough but they always invite me to share. Apparently, 5 staff members pooling their lunches together can create a 6th portion for me. While I write this, I realize that they've always saved the best portions for me.
All I ever do to repay them is to buy lunch, desert and pastries from time to time, and crack my jokes and serve my uniqure comedy stylings. Is it enough? I haven't heard many complaints.
So Saturday passed, and Sunday evening I found myself alone in an empty school at 7pm. I was reading comic books having accidentally downloaded more than I meant to read that night, and was caught in a vicious cycle of "just one more." The same sort of problem that bedevils late night snackers of potato chips and cookies.
And then the phone rang in the teacher's lounge. And it was Thao.
"I'm downstairs, teacher. What are you doing?"
"Reading comic books."
"I'm coming upstairs. WHen will you be finished?"
"5 or ten minutes."
"Then can you take me out?"
"No. I have got to the store and buy some groceries."
"Can I come with you?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
And so it continues for another 15 minutes until she finally agrees to leave.
Monday night, half an hour after my last class, I get a call from Thao. She's waiting for me downstairs.
*sigh*