It’s the little things that make me happy.
Little things like a spoiled brat in Daddy’s (probably not – this is Vietnam, mind land of false celebrity, pathopsychology corruption and the fast, dubious buck) Rolls Royce getting a parking ticket.
Sure, he’ll just throw it away with total disinterest, even though he could afford to pay for a million parking tickets. But it’s the thought that counts.
A little Vietnamese boy of about 25, wearing a too-tight, v-neck sweater, some flash on his fingers and neck, a head full of hair gel and a permanently painted-on look of arrogance, turned this ugly monstrosity of a vehicle off Dong Khoi, stopping directly in front of the Jaspa’s bike ramp. With a rather un-stately beep then whir, doors locked, side mirrors glided inward, boy pocketed keys and wandered away, probably looking to hook up with whatever silly, money-hungry, over-made-up local girls he “owns”.
Across the road, a parking inspector’s eyes lit up as he spied the transgressor. Removing his white iPhone earbuds, the man in the snazzy cream uniform strode purposely toward this luxury, inanimate rule-breaker which, in my imagination, seemed glad to be rid of it’s under-qualified driver for at least a short period of time. My new hero of the moment looked around in hope that a miffed junior celeb would come running back to protest, but no such luck was to come. He then proceeded to write very deliberately, making sure the locals could see his good deed as he slipped a fresh ticket under a no-doubt technologically advanced windscreen wiper.
I smiled on the inside then returned to my beer and browsing as he strolled back down the street to his favored survey point.
Post-script: Yesterday, a similarly-dressed 40-sth strode into Pho Quynh, entourage in tow. Said harem was sad to behold, form-fitting sweater had seen better days, Pho Quynh is not the “place to be seen”. Worst of all – the guy glided up to the no-parking zone in a silver Hyundai. It takes all types.