“I’m Gai!” Love has it’s own language, sometimes not easily understood

After an uneventful train ride from Quy Nhon to Ho Chi Minh City (an all night ride which we “slept” through), Grace and I found ourselves on another bus for the last leg of our tour. I was feeling more comfortable with this ride – it was an actual bus, the driver wore a uniform, and there was no disco ball in sight. It was also packed, and Grace and I made our way to the very back to grab two of the last three seats.

As we settled in for the trip to Ben Tre, our planned jumping off point into the Mekong Delta, vendors came onto the bus selling their wares. One gentleman, about my age and selling packs of gum, immediately waived for my attention from from the front and started talking at me.

“I’m Gai… I’m Gai.”

I nodded and waved, then attempted to focus my attention elsewhere. But the man was persistent, shouting over the heads and walking straight past would-be gum purchasers to get closer to me.

“I’m Gai.”

I smiled, nodded again, and introduced myself – “Hi, I’m Scott.” Feeling like a damn fool, I awkwardly searched for other topics to discuss. “American.”

Frustrated that he wasn’t getting through to me, he added some body language. Holding his hand lightly to his mouth and batting his eyes at me, he again exclaimed “I’m Gai. Good Lai. Best lay! I’m gay!”

Oh. “Um… this is Grace,” and I quickly pull at her sleeve.

And because she’s the best damn traveling partner in the world (not to mention best damn partner in the world), she hugs me tight and says, “Sorry, he’s mine.”

If looks could kill, she would have died right there as “Gai” shot her daggers. He huffed away back toward the front, attempting to take solace in selling some more gum, but you could tell that his heart wasn’t into it.

Would you f* me? I'd f* me.

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