Rose and Sam's Excellent Adventure

Been a stupid hard week this week, maybe worst week in ‘Nam. Been kinda having “one of those days” for a few too many days in a row, so I’m gunna share a gag here, before something less creative happens. Wanna think about something other than Systemic Functional Linguistics!

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Most of you probably know, some more than others, how fascinated I have been with the Viet Minh (aka, VietCong) and their guerilla tactics they used in the American War, and their path to the difficult victory against a supposedly indestructibly enemy. Also, the indestructible nature of the Ak-47 assault rifle which aided this victory. I witnessed a tiny part of this legacy the other day when I was trying to clear my head in the Botanical Gardens near home. Not the legacy of historical tales, not super 8 film taken from the jungle, but I saw this in the middle of Hanoi, in a public park.

First of all, the Vietnamese High School Girls here are a little out of control. You walk past and they all kinda ‘heads-together’ and stuff as you walk up, and they mutter “Hello” to you and giggle as you walk past, and 9 times outta 10, if you turn around, they’re all still looking at you smirking, especially if you’re alone. I’m convinced, this very tactic is passed down in the gene pool as a perfect setting for an ambush, nothing more, nothing less. Don’t kick that can 15 yards down-wind from the giggling school girls, unless you enjoy hopping… But I digress…

I was walking down the path and I noticed some girls wearing the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) helmet which we probably all know. I sat down, and looked to my right, to see a whole fucking platoon of 16 year old girls, some with army shirts on, but most just in their normal tight jeans and tight tops, with pith helmets on, standing to attention, which similarly caught MY attention.

There was a tall, male teacher walking around with his hands behind his back, and another girl, giving orders to the giggling platoon, apparently to giggle. The 30 strong platoon of gals turned right, (towards me) and started marching drills and half-timing towards my pos. I was unarmed, out-numbered and had completely lost any will to repel this attack, so I just elbowed up onto the bench back and smirked my way through the next minute as they approached the inevitability of gags, the nearer they got.

I thought for years, I was fairly good at suppressing smirks when I thought something was funny, until a fateful day in Fremantle, I walked past a car and looked into the window, and saw a smirking fool looking back at me. My initial thoughts was it was someone else, but I realised it was me, strolling and smirking at my inner comedic brilliance and my stoic, smirk free self-image was wiped away like the car’s wipers had been turned on. As I saw this platoon of pearlers marching towards me, I realised I was in the exact same situation. I was grinning from ear to ear and not Buddha, Sgt Hartman or Mum could stop it. This… was gunna get messy.

They were brought to a stop, 10 meters away and by this time, at least a third of the platoon had noticed a white guy on the bench and had started their smirking and their nods and “hello”s, while the 5ft Drill Sgt looked away. The Drill Sgt then gave the order to march, and kept time with a comedically rhythmic “Mot Hai! Mot Hai! Mot Hai!” (One, Two). They were level with me, and I was actively giggling at this exceptionally bizarre sight. Most of the platoon was looking at me, clearly self concious at the dude laughing at them, and without thinking, I slowly raised my arms off the back of the bench, and raised them high in the air in surrender and said “Ok! OK!”.

The Drill Sgt’s pseudo hard exterior cracked and her sense of “I see a gag” kicked in, and she pulled her fingers out at me, like holding duel pistols, and I found myself, arms in the air, at imaginary gun-point by a gang of Vietnamese school girls dressed in NVA army uniform. I realised, at that very moment, I must have died, and surely gone to heaven. Hell aint got nothing on me now. I’ve seen beyond and achieved the 1000 yard stare all field marines get. I was in Operating Hastings, in my pants. Hands up, shame down.

After I had recovered from the excruciating task of refraining from getting the giggles after they had marched past, I realised they was not one platoon but a whole company of these marching girls. The drill instructor must have thought the day would be easier if for the next 30 minutes, she drilled all the other girls infront of me, in groups of 10 with Vietnamese commands sending the girls turning left, about face and arbitrary amounts of steps in all directions. Free entertainment.

I realised I couldn’t stay in the park and watch these girls performing marching drills all day, and I had cursed myself for not bringing the camera. So I went home, only to return with Rose a few hours later for our fairly regular evening walk through the park. I had told Rose all about these magnificent, 4ft-fuck-all marching giggle machines and when we went back 3 hours later, I REALLY booted myself for not taking the camera as now, they had green AK-47s and were learning how to properly keep your head down and keep your AK-47 out of the mud while snake crawling on your face on bitumen. It was just a little too much for me to take and I was ranting and raving at “NO WONDER WE LOST THE FUCKING WAR! THEY LEARN HOW TO TIGER CRAWL WITH A MACHINE GUN IN HIGH SCHOOL!”

Rose wasn’t nearly as impressed as I was, and I think she was just a little disturbed. As much as I was kicking myself for not bringing a camera, TWICE, I feel much better now, as I actually found a photo of them on the net. I think this photo was taken in Saigon, but either way, it’s a very similar thing that I witnessed. Marvel in this image, and enjoy the rest of your day

Tags: army training, Full Metal Jacket, high school, Vietnam, vietnamese

This entry was posted by Sam on Friday, June 5th, 2009 at 1:34 am and is filed under Hanoi, Photos, Vietnam, gag, rant. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.