Can I complain?I think I can. As a Vietnamese or the banana that I am, I reserve the right to grapes about my fellow men, my “con rong chau tien”, my 3000-thousand-year-of-history-crap people. I am not going to complain about how noisy, dirty, or the disrespect of the law my people have become. I am just going to complain the little, tiny, the very minute stupid thing, like lineup and wait for your turn.
When will we, and I do mean me included, because I, too, am a Vietnamese, regards how hard I try not to, learn the basic etiquette of human interaction: form a channel, wait, for your time to be served? We have 3 millennium of rich ancient time, yet, we were unable to integrate this into practice. What were our forefathers busy doing? Let me guess, trying to impregnate a concubine? No? Oh yeah, sleeping with a housemaid. Got it.
As a nation with small penis compare to African and Western countries, we are such a bunch of horny basters, all we think about is how to crew one another; like trying to justify for being born with small package.
It is about time, we should stop. Let’s step into the 21 Century. Let have our brain do the thinking instead of the little guy down below. It’s about time we learn to be patience. It has to start from the top, the elderly, the grandparents, the mom and the dad.
Yesterday at Big C Supermarket was the perfect example of such exercise. I was at the store to buy some toothpaste and mouth wash. At the cash register, the girl in front must be hungry, because she had had 2 baskets full of foods to be processed. But being the root-forget-er, or whatever, my generation called ourselves, I lined up, and waited for my turn.
Stood about 3 feet behind, I could see that I am next, so I waited. Patiently. Minding my business. Listening to a song about how a guy wanting his gift back from an ex-girlfriend over the overhead speakers, and wondering why Vietnamese women like dominatrix in bed. Before the answer could be germinated in my head a surprise rushed in.
Out of the blue, a lady in her mid 30, shoulder-length hair, wearing brown pant, and white blouse, jumped in front of me. She brought with her was the smell of rotten egg and dog poop. She put her goods on the cash register; invading the scarce space between the hungry hippo and me; the space where I felt threaten: my life could be in danger. I must defend those 3 feet of freedom – to the death.
What the f1ck I yelled; I was here you bitch; I added, all in my head. I am sure the thought and my stare had communicated with her loudly and clearly – I don’t like you, go away, and get back behind me. Form a line. Wait. She didn’t get all that she just stood there. Like nothing happen: rape me and leave for dead.
I swore to the almighty, my gaze must have burned a hole in her skull. Because she just skimmed around, avoid my eyes contact. I was just some bloke standing there, waiting for something. Waiting for her to get the hell out of my face, that was what I was waiting for. She never did. I wanted to slap her, until all her teeth fall-off. Teach her some manners, but did you know what really pissed me off?
The 70 years old grandmother, who shoved herself into between me and the line-stealer-private-space-invader-pretend-nothing-happen-female-dog. My hair must had been on fire because my body was burning up, smoke was coming out of my ears. Keep calm, breath, I told myself. Breath. Meditate. Think of nice thought. She is an old lady. Paul calm down. Calm. Think of water flow, think of peace and quiet. Breath. Be nice. Paul. Be Nice.
The old lady sneered at me. Then looked straight ahead like I was kind of vase that the store must had brought to jerk-off during time of boredom. Of all the things she could do, she picked her nose in front of me.
The A-bomb dropped. Bell rung. Siren going full blasted. I could no longer control myself. Somebody would get hurt. And it would be me, because this is how Vietnam function. They, I would have said we, but I digress, have no regards to niceness, nor politeness, the product of being decent human is all but gone. This is how my people live. I’m just a guest. And if I want to live in their world I have to be like them, I have to act like they are. I have to be rude, loud, and obnoxious. It was then I dropped all the merchandise and walked out the store. I am not them.
I can’t and I won’t. I was built differently. Maybe because of having the luxury of living in a developed country. Or is it? Then it hit me. Vietnam had somehow morphed into the Trump’s America. They wear the same makeup, and sing the same song. So I can conclude that the red and yellow has somehow turned into red, white and blue. Make Vietnam great again! Slogan has been proudly plastered across the many street corners, where drunken men pee at night. And the only way to get what you want is by pushing, shoving, and violate people around you, then pretend it’s a walk in the park (whistle, add for emphasis). Got to love it. Be great, be awesome, be Viet Trump.
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