the rain, it falls
last night, carlitos and rode into town and hopped about getting things done. we checked out a bar that looked like the right place for the locals to get their groove on. he wanted to see the locals dance, and party.
rita however was no copa cabana. for hcmc, it’s just a glorified coffee house with loud night-club music pumping. families sat about gabbing at the glass tables, with bare feet unsheathed from their sandals, wiggling toes on the upholstery.
today
it’s been a lazy cat-like day.
the rain has been coming down like suddenly, like some after thought the skies wanted to put in on a moment’s moment.
the kind folks at reception told me this morning they’re going to charge me more when it’s time for me to check out. that’s coming up on wednesday morning.
i wasn’t anticipating that they’d try to jack up the price. so i went to back up place.
the owner sauntered into the lobby with a cheshire cat grin on her face.
only a few days ago, she’d offered me a price to match the one on my current hotel room. all decisions had to be made by her, so all bargaining had to be made with her.
“Hello, Mr. Robert,” she said with a smile.
“So,” I began, sensing something wrong, “I am here to complete my paperwork for suite two oh two.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Hoa, “I’m sorry, one of my girls, without my knowledge gave that room to one of her friends.”
i took the news while i was sitting.
mrs. hoa was observing me for a reaction. what she got was an non-plussed grin.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Robert,” she said after an uncomfortable silence of me staring at her right nostril caught in permanent flare of self-satisfaction. “I do not know what we do. Her friend stay in room for two week, then another man for one month.”
“What about the room on the top floor?” I asked. That room was a closet going for $250.
“Taken,” she said with calculated pleasure. “I think it good for you take the ground floor suite.”
“I don’t like the ground floor, suite,” I answered. “The ground floor suite? Bad.”
and it was. everything was cramped, and it was just outside the lobby of the hotel. you couldn’t fart without eliciting the shits and giggles of the family that ran the place.
“No, no,” she smiled expectantly…another nine months, and her mouth would have given birth to a new jaw. “I think you no choice, you stay ground floor, ok.”
“Lower price?” I asked, with one eye-brow raised.
“Same price,” she answered. “Cheap price, good for you! So when you move in?”
“Let me get this right,” I said when my laughter subsided, and I drew my head back up between my hands, “you promised me the second floor room yesterday, we agreed upon the price, and now you want me to take a bad room for the same price?”
i heard a giggle from the receptionist who works at the other hotel as a bar girl. she was receiving her lesson in how to win an argument with a foreigner. mrs. hoa had permitted me a victory in the haggling a foreigner could win when securing housing. had she lost face yesterday? perhaps. but we came to an agreement.
today would become pressure day for me.
“Mr. Robert,” she repeated, “I do not know my girl would put her friend in your room. But you take (first floor) room and it okay for you. Maybe I let you stay for three days, and you can take two-oh-two.”
“Wow!” I slapped my cheeks with exaggeration. “Your girl booked the room for two weeks, then one month! Now you tell me I can have it in six days? How you do that?”
yes, staying in vietnam dumbs my grammar down when speaking with the locals. it’s what i hear, that i inadvertently mimic.
“I can, I can,” she stroked my arm.
i stood up to play my second last gambit.
“No it’s okay,” I said. “I go back to my hotel.”
“They no give you bigger room,” she said, stunning me. “I say them, you must pay more because you will pay here more for room.”
the receptionist was cradling her mouth in her hands. this was how to win a negotiation with a foreigner. go to the competition and work together.
i turned on her and stroked her arm.
“If I go to my hotel,” I replied, “you don’t get money from me, yeah?”
she hesitated, but confidently smiled. i reckoned she agreed with my hotel to a cut, wherever i went between the two. “Yes,” she nodded.
“If I go to your hotel,” I continued, “they don’t get money from me, yeah?”
again, she nodded, barely able to hold her tongue.
“So, I no go to this hotel, and that hotel, and nobody get my money, yeah?”
mrs. hoa looked confused. “But where hotel you go? This is cheap!”
“You like play games, Mrs. Hoa,” I answered. “You lose this game, and my money. Good luck for you!”
mrs. hoa looked lost for words and stared at her bargirl/receptionist, who didn’t understand what just happened.
i walked out and chuckled, then pulled out the card for my last hotel gambit.
***********************************
when my work was done, i sat in the lounge of mrs. hoa’s other hotel, having coffee.
carlitos contemplated going into town by bike. though the offer came up, i declined, choosing to lounge today, even though i had done so most weekend.
when he left, i looked at my textbook to plan lessons for the week.
i was about to get up after doing my mark-ups, when i saw the sun painted world outside turn suddenly grey, soft rain began to fall. the trees, planted haphazardly on this developing lot, were dripping. then the dripping gave way to violence, and the ricochet of raindrops cleared the streets of all human life.
the lounge was quiet.
no romantic, sappy, 70s music.
i felt a melancholy seize me as i thought about her.
i couldn’t help it.
Tags: hotels, September 2009, Stephanie Giroux-Boucher
