Packed and Oiled

We are tightly packed.

17 deep

6 across

sardines, waiting our turn

tightly packed in oil

because oil,

is what brings us all here. 

The packing process is mostly about sitting still. I imagine a time lapse, how it would reveal us making our way inexorably, towards our destination.

A fill-up, as we are currently depleted 

A wide array of helmets, in front and behind, adorned on the sides

Royal

Deadpool

Batman

Napoli

even a couple anti-heros in the crowd.

Most of the massed humans are Vietnamese, waiting in line post-commute. They, we, all need our gas.

I do a quick count. roughly 60 bikes in front of me. And as I crane my neck backwards, spot 60 more.

I’ve been at this for 25 minutes,

middle of the pack. 

Normally, service at the pump is a flash. Three, four, maybe five different bikes in line. I go through my ritual of popping in the seat up, untwisting the cap, cash in hand, ready to move and follow the attendant’s instructions. 

They are quick to ask, a bit brusque, but mostly focused on keeping things moving, getting the job done. 

Because, together, we can.

Today, however, these normally-smooth, slick operators

are stuck.

I’m not sure what kind of fuel shortage is going on in Vietnam, but I do know that things are tighter than normal.  Mideast tensions find their way to Southeast Asia.

The seemingly endless flow of supply that we all too often take for granted, has hit a bottleneck.

Reason 1,473 that war is bullshit

And so, we, too, find ourselves in the neck of this bottle.  My usual three minute stop has been extended.

But it gives me the chance to, yet again, slow down and look around. 

I wonder to myself 

Where is everyone coming from 

And where might they be going 

Who are they

Students? Employees? Government?

I spot a couple obvious expats in the crew and immediately typecast them as English teachers. I’m sure they do the same to me. 

maybe they’re MI-5

But the overwhelming majority of folks here are Vietnamese 

And, as is custom 

They counter this somewhat unexpected hitch in their daily commute with grace, empathy, and a sense for the common good. 

We are sardines, packed to the gills, but the sentiment is overwhelmingly

we are here, in this can, together

together, we are canned

and

together, we can.

I imagine a similar scenario back home, where this sense of shared good is not always present, even at the best of times.

Although I’d like to hope that people would manage it with aplomb, and grace

frankly, it would be a mess

I’m so grateful to be in a place where this latest hitch is met with gentleness

and a sense that, much like these huddled motorbikes, arrayed and soon to be greased,

fish in a can.

We are lined up

we are aligned,

and we are in line.

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