A few months back I was whining about the necessity of buying new shoes so I could "dress nice" for the opening ceremony of my English teaching job. I clean up just fine, but, honestly, I prefer my employment dress code to be "casual and comfortable." My employment history would be the proof...six years at Ben & Jerry's (mostly in a t-shirt), a year at a brewery, a decade of teaching in comfortable clothing, and some serious floor time at Happy Trails (where the smile is as important as the attire). The "professional attire" requirements I now have for my teaching job in Danang are making my life challenging.
My Vietnam wardrobe screams "backpacker" - particulary as our time here winds down. My goal is to wear what I've got until it dissolves. That way I can ditch it without guilt next month when it comes time to pack up and head home. However, three times each week I must play the "dress code" game. I pull out one of my two skirts that reach the "approved length" code and a wrinkly blouse that meets the "blouse not knit shirt" code. I do not own an iron and have no intention of buying one. I have gone two decades without ironing (sorry Mom), and I don't think there is any reason to start now. I rationalize that the humidity in the air will steam out the wrinkles on my forty-five minute motorbike trip.
Yes, after I dress up for my "professional" job, I must climb onto a dirty motorbike and speed through dust, dirt and rain to arrive at school. Once I park and remove my helmet, it is expected that somehow my hair will meet the dress code as well. Typically (if it's not raining), I have biked through a sandstorm along the beach, been pelted by resort sprinklers that have been set up right next to the road with no way around, and then biked through city dust, grime and exhaust fumes. When I arrive at school, I am slightly damp with a thick coating of gritty pollution. If it starts to sprinkle, my brownish-gray coating starts to run down my face.
I quickly stuff my flip flops into my motorbike seat and shove my feet into the unbelievably uncomfortable ballet flats I had to get to meet "the code." I walk into the school, limp up five flights of stairs and stash my shoes in a cubby because I must teach barefoot. There are no shoes allowed in the classroom. Would it really be offensive if I walked up five flights of stairs in my flip flops? I don't get it.
To compound the pain, the other night I hopped on my motorbike after class to head back to Hoi An and discovered that I had a flat tire. Dressed in my "professional attire," I was in no mood to flip that bike upside down and get grimy (never mind that I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to change a motorbike tire anyway). After circling the block a few times and stopping a few different people to pantomime and point at my flat, I was directed to a roadside tire repair stand. As I daintily revved my engine and shot over the curb (nearly taking out the cigarette stand next door), I wondered if I might be a better motorbike driver if I weren't dressed in this ridiculous outfit. I parked my bike and resigned myself to waiting while the friendly repair man and his wife checked out a few other bikes waiting in front of me. I settled in to enjoy the roadside pollution as my ridiculous shoes pinched my feet. I decided it could be worse. At least it wasn't raining.
Then the very old, wrinkled woman who was covered in grease from head to toe from her bike repair job took pity on me and waddled over with a plastic chair that at one time may have been white. It was coated in dirt and covered with splotches of grease. The gesture was sweet. The chair threatened to ruin one of my only "dress code worthy" outfits. I plopped myself down and decided I would wear that skirt every day for the rest of my contract - just to make sure there will be no guilt when I burn it with the trash next month.
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