Bill, please!
When even a simple lunch can result in a tangle of conflicting cultural values
"Remember, in Vietnam the inviter always pays."
I had read words to this effect so often that I had no hesitation about inviting Mr. Binh to join me for lunch, being sure that he would feel free to eat his fill, secure in the knowledge that I would pick up the tab.
Mr. Binh was my regular honda om driver and I suspected that the money he earned from me was his sole income. He was the brother of my friend Loc and normally lived in Can Tho. But when I asked Loc if he could find me a honda om to take me on my regular weekly circuit of teaching in various parts of the suburbs Mr. Binh turned up in HCMC a few days later. The reason for this was never explained, but I sensed it had something to with the fact that he had no job in Can Tho and the prospect of $36 a month from me was a windfall for him.
Mr. Binh's honda was not, in fact, a Honda, but a 33-year-old Czechoslovakan Jawa. He chugged me slowly around on this geriatric vehicle, sometimes to Cong Hoa in the morning, sometimes to An Phu in the afternoon.
One day I had a change in schedule which required me to go to the two areas one after the other. Mr. Binh picked me up in Cong Hoa and, as it was around midday, I stopped for lunch on the way to An Phu.
We ate together, copiously. Not liking the fish Mr. Binh had recommended I laid it aside and asked him to get me something else. A bowl of curried chicken arrived. We drank Cokes and finished off with fruit.
After the meal I took out my purse. Mr. Binh, however, managed to engage the waitress's attention and pulled some money out of his pocket. I insisted that the meal was on me. Mr. Binh insisted that it was on him. I tried to force a wad of notes into the waitress's hand. Mr. Binh did likewise. I argued that I should pay. Mr. Binh disagreed. The dispute, which was becoming heated and leading to the embarrassment of all concerned, was finally won by Mr. Binh.
The bill, whatever it was, must have amounted to at least what I was paying Mr. Binh for that day's work. As I got on the back of the motorbike and clutched his threadbare shirt, ready for take-off, I felt that I had handled the situation very inadequately.
Later I asked an Australian friend's advice. She had been living in Vietnam for a year and would surely know what to do in such
circumstances.
"It's because you're a woman," she explained briskly.
"He couldn't have let you pay. He's a man."
"But I'm about a zillion times better off than he is."
"It doesn't matter. Vietnamese men don't let women pay."
"Nonsense," said Quang when I reported this conversation to him. "But there was no need for you to invite him to have lunch with you in the first place. You should have asked him to wait outside while you had lunch by yourself."
"I couldn't do that. I see him regularly and I know him now. We're not living in feudal times."
Quang had no further solution to offer.
Needless to say, on subsequent occasions when I went straight from morning work to afternoon work I just had to skip lunch.
Published in Saigon Times Daily, 1996
I had read words to this effect so often that I had no hesitation about inviting Mr. Binh to join me for lunch, being sure that he would feel free to eat his fill, secure in the knowledge that I would pick up the tab.
Mr. Binh was my regular honda om driver and I suspected that the money he earned from me was his sole income. He was the brother of my friend Loc and normally lived in Can Tho. But when I asked Loc if he could find me a honda om to take me on my regular weekly circuit of teaching in various parts of the suburbs Mr. Binh turned up in HCMC a few days later. The reason for this was never explained, but I sensed it had something to with the fact that he had no job in Can Tho and the prospect of $36 a month from me was a windfall for him.
Mr. Binh's honda was not, in fact, a Honda, but a 33-year-old Czechoslovakan Jawa. He chugged me slowly around on this geriatric vehicle, sometimes to Cong Hoa in the morning, sometimes to An Phu in the afternoon.
One day I had a change in schedule which required me to go to the two areas one after the other. Mr. Binh picked me up in Cong Hoa and, as it was around midday, I stopped for lunch on the way to An Phu.
We ate together, copiously. Not liking the fish Mr. Binh had recommended I laid it aside and asked him to get me something else. A bowl of curried chicken arrived. We drank Cokes and finished off with fruit.
After the meal I took out my purse. Mr. Binh, however, managed to engage the waitress's attention and pulled some money out of his pocket. I insisted that the meal was on me. Mr. Binh insisted that it was on him. I tried to force a wad of notes into the waitress's hand. Mr. Binh did likewise. I argued that I should pay. Mr. Binh disagreed. The dispute, which was becoming heated and leading to the embarrassment of all concerned, was finally won by Mr. Binh.
The bill, whatever it was, must have amounted to at least what I was paying Mr. Binh for that day's work. As I got on the back of the motorbike and clutched his threadbare shirt, ready for take-off, I felt that I had handled the situation very inadequately.
Later I asked an Australian friend's advice. She had been living in Vietnam for a year and would surely know what to do in such
circumstances.
"It's because you're a woman," she explained briskly.
"He couldn't have let you pay. He's a man."
"But I'm about a zillion times better off than he is."
"It doesn't matter. Vietnamese men don't let women pay."
"Nonsense," said Quang when I reported this conversation to him. "But there was no need for you to invite him to have lunch with you in the first place. You should have asked him to wait outside while you had lunch by yourself."
"I couldn't do that. I see him regularly and I know him now. We're not living in feudal times."
Quang had no further solution to offer.
Needless to say, on subsequent occasions when I went straight from morning work to afternoon work I just had to skip lunch.
Published in Saigon Times Daily, 1996
