We Were Not Arrested

“We were not arrested” Rachel grinned and hopped off the motorbike.

“See, the whole time I kind of wish we were. Then we could be on the front page of the New York Times. How cool would that be?” I replied.

Let me just start off by saying that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Well, anything that I understood to be wrong.

It started off as a typical Friday night. 11 of us were crammed into a small Vietnamese karaoke room. Rachel and I were the only Americans. Vietnamese karaoke is an interesting thing. Many of the songs are in Vietnamese. However, there is a big song book of American music that I’m pretty sure hasn’t been updated since 1978. Some of the roommates’ favorites include Neil Diamond hits, John Lennon ballads, and the most requested song: “Country Roads” by John Denver. Surreal is a good way to describe the situation.

The karaoke bar closed at midnight, but still full of energy we drove around town on our motorbikes. (Disclaimer: I don’t drive a motorbike, I would die. I hop on the back of one with a roommate who has been driving for years). Saigon at night is one of my favorite places, and the roommates wanted to show Rachel and I the best view of the skyline. We hung out there for a while, enjoying the night, watching the boats go by on the Saigon River, and just generally being college kids.

L-O-Y-O-L-A

Then all of a sudden the laughter stopped. Two police officers pulled up on their bikes. Every single one of the Vietnamese students’ faces turned to ash. I didn’t know what was going on, but I realized we were in trouble.

Here is a quick breakdown of the police officers in Vietnam:

Green Uniform: Carries a beat stick, least educated, has no real authority. The only thing they can do is pull you over and confiscate your bike and/or drivers license. They usually can be bribed for a lump sum.

Khaki Uniform: Carries a beat stick and a hand gun. Has more authority than green officer. When green doesn’t know what to do about a situation they call a kaki officer. They can do everything a green officer can do, except it’s going to cost you more. Plus, they can arrest you.

Black Uniform: Carries a beat stick and an AK-47. No nonsense. No excuses.

It was green officers who were interrogating us. ID’s were to be shown, license and registration for each motorbike, as well as an explanation as to what we thought we were doing.  Rachel and I stood helplessly by as the Vietnamese students would pass us every few minutes and mutter instructions under their breath to us. We tried to be the ones to reason with the officers. We were just students and tourists looking at the city. We even have photographs to prove that we were just taking pictures. No dice. After a few minutes of consulting with each other the green officers told us that we weren’t allowed to move. We had to stay here, and there was nothing we could do about it. They were calling in the khaki officers.

Negotiations

As the stakes went up, so did our game plan. Tung, one of my closer friends, urgently looked at me and said, “Cry. Now.” I knew those acting lessons as a child would someday pay off. I can breakdown in tears like a pro. And breakdown I did.

My performance was worth at least a Golden Globe, if not an Emmy, a Tony, and an Oscar. I sobbed into my hands. I demanded to go home. I stomped off. I curled up into a ball on the corner of the street, hid my face and wailed. The hardest part was not laughing the entire time. I made quite a scene. People passing by on motorbikes kept slowing down and staring at my grand performance. A homeless guy even walked up to watch what would happen next.

When the khaki officers finally showed up nearly 30 minutes later, I was hiccuping in a corner loudly bemoaning my fate. The green officers couldn’t even bear to look at me. In the next ten minutes, negotiations were settled. Instead of paying the initial 2 million VND (~$100) per person, and confiscating all the motorbikes, we would only have to pay 200,000 VND (~$10) total because that was “all the money we could pool together” . At that point the khaki officers didn’t even seem to care about the money, they just wanted to make sure I stopped crying and got off the street as soon as possible. The line that got us off the hook was, "these are American's you don't want to make a bad impression, do you?"

When we finally escaped I couldn’t help but laugh as the Vietnamese students explained the details to me. It could have been (and should have been) much, much worse. The cops were out to make money or fill their jail quota, and we looked like prime suspects.  Unfortunately for them, it didn’t exactly turn out as planned. 

By this time it was 2:30 in the morning. What do you do at 2:30 in the morning? Go for pho of course. Just another day in Vietnam.