Yeast Pitching in Beer Land!

We’d better get going before the rain comes then, he said.

They needed to go check out the space for the event on Saturday. It was in a mall in district 7, across town from the taproom. The skies were cloudy and grey, the air was fragrant and thick.

She had only been in Saigon a few days. Everything was still very overwhelming. Her giant, pink body was still catching up from the journey across the planet. Funny that lag time between the body and the brain. Sometimes the brain gets there first, sometimes the body. Exhale.

Alright, let’s do this, she said. She awkwardly put on her brand-new helmet, jumped on the back of his bike and away they went. Most people in Saigon drove scooters but he had an actual motorcycle, a crotch rocket in fact. He had been in Asia long enough that navigating the serpentine nature of the traffic was no problem for him. It was exciting for her.

As they zipped through the streets, he yelled back at her about different landmarks on the way. That’s that bridge… there’s that building… that’s where that thing happened 50 years ago…. She was trying to listen. But she was focusing more on the blackening skies and the rain that began to fall.

She noticed as other drivers pulled over to put on ponchos or to hide from the rain in one of the open store fronts or underneath over passes. He took this as an opportunity to speed up, fewer fish in the ocean. Are we going to stop? she asked. Nah, he said, we aren’t too far away.

Now, it really started to rain. Full on downpour. They pulled into the parking garage under the mall. She was completely soaked. 100% from toe to head. Neat, she thought, when in Saigon…

As they entered the lobby of the building where the event was to be held, the aircon hit her and her wet skin shriveled into a layer of goosebumps, everything clenching and tightening with the cold. He spoke in Vietnamese to the person at the desk. She stood, looking around, drip, drip, drip, a pool forming underneath her. The person at the desk stood and began motioning to where the event would be held and where the spaces to serve would be located.

She heard giggling behind her and turned to see three women smiling and nodding and moping up the trail of water she left as she walked. Excuse me, just a moment she said to him and went to find the restroom.

Once inside, she took her soaking wet shirt off and rang it out in the sink. Then she turned to the hand dryer and began drying her shirt underneath it’s weak stream of hot air. This is going to take forever she thought, as she looked at her reflection in the large bathroom mirror. Giant. Pink. Shirtless. Her hair was beginning to dry in a frizzy, ginger bulb and specks of Saigon street clung to her clammy wet calves. She looked like a wet cat. Super professional, she thought. She took a moment to finger her hair into a neat bun and blotted her face dry with some toilet paper.

As she began the second cycle on the hand dryer, two women walked into the bathroom. They saw her standing, shirtless and damp. They noticed, smiled and giggled and then spoke in Vietnamese to each other. She had no idea what they were saying, but they probably thought she was teacher. Everyone thought she was a teacher. She put the slightly less soaked shirt back on and went back out into the lobby.

The space had a small foot print but was vertical and had large windows. She wondered how busy the event would be? Did they need permits? Where was the loading zone?

Alright, well that’s about it, her said to her. Let’s grab a beer and wait for this rain to pass.