Unforgettable Days
Thinking back to the old days, when I was still young and unmarried, my parents would constantly urge me to bring a girlfriend home to introduce to the family. My dad even bought a small, cute helmet in advance and told me to take it with me — if I found a girlfriend, I should give it to her to wear and bring her home. Just that alone showed how anxious my parents were.
At that time, I was working far from home. I had just quit my old job and was looking for a new one, so I had to save every penny on food and daily expenses. There were moments when I had to pawn my motorbike papers or my ID card just to have some money to spend. In a situation like that, how could I even think about finding a girlfriend?
There were days when I had only 30,000 VND left in my pocket. I hadn’t eaten, and when I looked at the motorbike’s fuel gauge, the needle was deep in the red. How could I feed both myself and the bike? In the end, I decided to use 10,000 VND to buy some bread to get by, and save the remaining 20,000 VND for gas. I could skip a meal, but if the bike ran out of fuel, I wouldn’t be able to earn anything.
That evening, I sat and wondered if there was any way to make money. Sitting on my bike, I saw a few girls getting off the bus in the distance, backpacks on their shoulders — probably students returning home. I decided to take a risk and try working as a motorbike taxi driver. I used the helmet my dad had given me as a helmet for the passengers. The tools were ready — perfect!
But the first time trying the motorbike taxi job, I was so nervous. My heart was pounding like crazy.
I slowly rode up to one girl and asked, “Hey, where are you heading? Need a ride?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
The second time, I watched as a bus stopped and a few women got off. Immediately, three motorbike taxi guys pointed and claimed their spots from afar: “The one in the blue shirt is mine,” “The red shirt is mine,” “I’ll take the yellow shirt.” They rushed in, asking, “Need a ride? Going home? Where to?” Only one of the girls got on a bike. The others walked away. After they had gone a distance, I approached and asked, “Hey, need a motorbike taxi?” And again, I received a shake of the head and a mysterious smile: “No, thank you.”
And that was when I officially gave up the idea of being a motorbike taxi driver. My dad’s helmet was still there — perhaps it was meant only for my future girlfriend to wear when I brought her home, and never destined for taxi passengers.
