This is the story of how me and two other idiot Americans created a human dam and closed down the biggest intersection of Vietnam’s most populated city, Ho Chi Minh (a.k.a. “sucky sucky?” Saigon).
It started no different than any other night. I sat at a children’s play table made of plastic, gripping a glass containing both beer and a humongous rock of ice, hit with the steady breeze from the constant barrage of motorbikes whizzing by my side. My eyes were fixed on the television screen at the bar across the corner.
“Oh my God… if Vietnam actually wins this…” I looked at Vinny. He looked concerned. Blacklord just shrugged and continued pounding his beer. But what would happen? What kind of mayhem would spawn in this streets? It was just a silly soccer game, and the Southeast Asian soccer tournament meant nothing in the grand scheme of things—but this was the championship. And Vietnam was beating Thailand, with the time winding down. Vietnam was about to win something, for the first time since that Vietnamese guy won “Full Scale U.S. Invasion” from a Cracker Jack box.
Lo and behold, the little guys pulled it out. I clinked glasses with the dudes sitting at the plastic table behind me. Everyone was excited, naturally.
And then in an instant, the streets became absolutely FLOODED with people. And by people, I mean motorbikes. If there is anything Vietnam does well, it’s “motorbike”. We had to stand up and move our little plastic table out of the street to avoid getting ran over. Most Vietnamese have early-ass curfews, so I guess they were allowed to stay out an extra hour or two later; and then all of their curfews just simultaneously ended. There were a million fucking people driving by us, waving giant flags, yelling some crazy shit, hi-fiving us and so-forth.
This lasted three and a half minutes.
That’s when it started to rain. Shockingly yet appropriately, “rain” in Vietnamese actually translates as “clouds making dump on your face long time”. Not to mention that sewers in Vietnam? They don’t exist. So when it rains, you gotta drive with your feet on the handlebars of your bike, because if you cease motion at any point, you fall over into the waist high pool that forms, and is frequently harboring a stray syringe or a dead animal.
So the rain came down punishingly, and the party was over. Everyone was over the soccer victory. They just wanted to get home.
We had left our motorbikes at home that night, knowing that we would be drinking heaps regardless of the soccer outcome. Being wet as fuck already, and in no mood to go home, we decided to make moves to Pham Ngu Lao, the backpacker district. All the Viets were going home, but maybe we’d find some equally retarded foreigners still out kickin it. It was a short walk, and midway through, the streets became completely deserted. In all likelihood, “The Pham” would be desolate too. Nobody was dumb enough to stay out on a night like this.
We came to a massive roundabout at the city’s biggest intersection. Ten roads all converging into one. And that’s when we saw them:
Three guys on one motorbike. Driving straight in our direction. They pulled right next to us. Froze. Expressionless faces. And then they… gave us a round of applause.
We clapped our hands and cheered them back. We were the only six people on the street. That was worthy of merit. And then one of them took out a miniature white plastic barrel and started hitting the bottom of it with a baton. The other two got off their bikes and started cheering us on while the one guy beat the homemade drum barbarically. We screamed and danced over the rhythm of the drum, paying no heed as the rainfall increased drastically.
We got really into it. I’m talking full-on Native American thunderdancing, as we summoned the Gods to bless us with more rain. Shirts came off. The chants got louder. The Vietnamese guys would call out, “ohhh-eee ohhh-eee OH!” and we would go, “OHH-EE OHH-EE OH!”
I was so into it that I didn’t even realize that the crowd had grown. There were about fifteen people in our circle: me, Blacklord and Vinny at the very core of it. Oh, and I was wearing a Vietnamese flag around my neck. Was this disrespectful? Who gave a shit. Things were getting weird (and mind you I hadn’t even pooped my pants yet).
A few other drenched and unfortunate souls drove by, staring at the circle incredulously. When they saw three foreigners leading it, they abandoned their motorbikes and jumped in. Like my penis while watching old Barbara Streisand videos, it was growing. We were begining to occupy the entire goddamn intersection. It was impossible not to notice us. And apparently, it was impossible not to join us.
The crowd doubled… Then tripled. New people joined our circle every minute. We had the crowd eating out of the palms of our hands. My eyes found Blacklord. He was wearing one of those big straw triangular hats that Raiden from Mortal Kombat wears, and a pair of black sunglasses. The more people joined, the more accessories we gained. And then I looked at Vinny. Vinny became “An American Werewolf in Saigon”. Someone gave him a furry brown wolf mask, and he was howling over the cheers from the crowd.
And thus, due to our actions, the largest intersection in the city, maybe even the country, was now CLOSED for business. Not a single shred of traffic could pass through that sonovabitch if it tried. Nobody cared. Nobody wanted to go home. There were dozens–no, hundreds of them. Mayhem. I felt like I the conductor for a symphony, but for small people. Like an orchestra of made up of lemmings.
It couldn’t last forever; a mass exodus started taking place. People started leaving. There was something, or someone, pushing the crowd forward and sending them scattering. I couldn’t see what it was. And Vinny and Blacklord were too caught up in their dancing and accessory gathering to notice that something was coming. I realized what it was: a police vehicle, cutting through the middle of the crowd like a shark through waters. I got the attention of the other two, and we tried to escape.
The problem, when you are six foot three™, is that people notice you. Three of us, commandeering an army of little men with Fu Manchu moustaches; the cops knew just who to punish. We tried to escape on the sidewalk, but the crowd was too dense. I heard the angry Vietnamese voices of the police screaming some crazy gobbledygook behind me. The voices got louder and louder, and I couldn’t push through the crowd fast enough. The voices reached a crescendo, and then WHAM!!
I felt the baton crack me in my pooper. My precious J-Lo booty (pre-Ben Affleck mind you). It hurt like fuck and since this blog is prides itself in honesty I will come clean–I enjoyed the swift rump in the bum. It pressed some button deep deep down, touched a pleasure inside of me I never knew existed. I swirled in seas of ecstasy from brief moments before snapping back into reality. Vinny pulled me by my collar and yelled “Hurry up man! We gotta get the fuck out of here before they give us another!!” I did my best to cover, dilly dallying secretly in hopes of another shot in the bum, “Right!” I responded, “That was pretty gay. I didn’t even like it…. like at ALL!” I kept pushing, and then I heard a distinct noise behind me. The sound of electricity. It could have only been one thing: a taser. I was drenched in rain, and I knew full well that water and electricity don’t get along.
That was when I started trampling people. Stepping on heads, babies, banana peels, a Chupacabra; I needed to get the fuck outta there. I passed Vinny Fresh, I passed Blacklord, and I told them I’d see them at “Go 2”, a seedy bar in The Pham.
Nobody got tazed, and we all made it to Go 2 to share beers and reminisce about what the fuck just happened. And that’s the story. Exactly as it happened. Oh, you don’t believe me? Well what if I said, “I have the pictures to prove it?” Would you want to see them? Parental consent required. Have your mom sign below (and provide me with her phone number as well)
Sign here: _______________________
And here we go. The night we shut down the intersection:
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