The Bun Cha Girl

10Jun09

At a recent university class reunion in Hanoi a gang of friends arrived to get the measure of each other by way of comparing and contrasting jobs, accomplishments, recent peregrinations, acquisitions and the like. Although nobody in such circumstances actually says: “Tuan Anh oi! It’s so good to see you looking slightly less successful than myself! Excuse me while I whip out my iPhone!”, it is very possibly implied in a more subtle, less verbal fashion.

Thankfully for the most part success seemed to be fairly universal. In one small cluster, a man spouted off about macroeconomics with two others who retaliated with some patter on the property market, most especially beachfront condos in Danang and luxury apartments in Hanoi. The well-dressed trio had all travelled to Singapore, Hong Kong, Bangkok and Australia; they were surprised they hadn’t bumped into each other in Vietnam Airlines’ Business Class Lounge what with all the travelling they’d done. The world of business and finance was foremost in these men’s minds. Sure, the economic downturn, now presented numerous challenges, but capable men when it came to matters of consequence, this was what made business so exciting, and the ensuing conversation on macroeconomics was erudite, insightful and educational.

Eventually an old classmate, Nguyet came towards them. Ah, Nguyet, the uninvited belle to the economic ball, she had shunned a career in business to help her shrewish mother at the family’s bun cha streetside stall near Y___ ___ street and by now it was probably too late to catch up with the ever-rapidly advancing world of business. What a shame. Each of the three worldly business men were nervous about asking her what she was up to these days. Should they say “How’s Life?” or “How’s work?” knowing that she was probably embarrassed to have achieved nothing. One man was even surprised she came. Eventually one of them asked what she was up to and she replied, quite positively, “I’m still helping my mother at the restaurant”. The boys pictured poor Nguyet in her pyjamas rolling meat balls in her hands, turning the slivers of pork over on the clay-grill, opening bottles of Bia Hanoi for red-faced garrulous men and washing chopsticks in a basin on the floor; the permanent stench of fish sauce and smoked pork in her hair, nothing but an empty restaurant and an afternoon nap to look forward to. Okay, she looked alright, but she’d probably dressed up especially for the occasion and would normally be shuffling around in her plastic honeycomb sandals and cycling to the market for the daily groceries. What kind of life was that compared to these accomplished gents who were clearly sailing towards the Sea of Affluence on the SS Success? One mumbled, “Oh, I must come around sometime for some bun cha” and the others quickly concurred, saying out loud that it was the best bun cha in town. Nguyet said that would be great if they came and it would be her treat. The men laughed at this gesture though not in a deliberately cruel way; it just seemed silly to think that they could get excited over a free lunch when it would only cost a paltry VND30,000 each at most. Hadn’t she noticed their expensive suits tailor made for casual get-togethers?

With Nguyet lingering around, the conversation struggled to keep itself going and a palpable sense of awkwardness arose. Eventually Nguyet spotted someone she said she had to say hello to and she tottered off saying she’d chat with the lads later.

The men sighed with relief and got back to chatting about financial matters and undisturbed that’s how they remained until the reunion petered out and everyone made their way to the exit in the late afternoon.

The three men swapped phone numbers in the carpark, promising to meet up soon for coffee and just as they hopped onto their fairly fancy motorbikes — Yamaha Dylans + Piaggios, that kind of thing — a BMW 4WD pulled up beside them. The window rolled down, and lo and behold, there was Nguyet, the bun cha girl, behind the steering wheel: “Hey, see you guys soon! Don’t forget to come to my restaurant for lunch! My treat!”

The three men drove home separately, each reflecting in their own way on microeconomics and the life they had lived thus far and how far they had to go.

*******

This is a hastily written variation of a story which I overheard and have completely alterred. My apologies as ever to the original storyteller but as Italo Calvino once said “It is not the voice that commands the story: it is the ear.” That’s not to say I wasn’t really listening, I was just imagining the above version while listening to the actual story.

Filed under: Whimsical, satire   |  5 Comments
Tags: bun cha girl, class reunion, macroeconomics, story