After a few days in the PP doing nothing but smoking ganja and wandering around, I noticed a posting to volunteer at the city dump. Now I’m not your traditional volunteer. In fact I had never volunteered before. But, I figured if this trip was to be a true adventure and growing experience, I better start doing things I wouldn’t ordinarily consider. I dialed the number on the paper and was told where to be and when. The man said, “Wear long pants and good shoes, and bring sun block. Be prepared for some shocking sights.” This sounds good, thought. I resumed my smoking and wandering for the next two days.
Wednesday rolled around and I was up and ready. Well, sort of up, and sort of ready. I had been staying up late for the last couple of days and I wasn’t exactly sharp that Wednesday morning. I donned my standard garb, much of it I’m wearing as I write this. Army pants rolled up just below the knee, Cambodia muscle shirt, and my favorite blue, white and red base ball hat. I also had on shoes, probably for the first time since leaving Canada. I left for the riverside where I was to meet the man organizing this tourist trip to the city landfill.
I arrived at the meeting place, a bar on the girlie bar street. One of the only bars on the street that wasn’t providing prostitutes with the beer. I donated a twenty to the pot of cash to buy food for the kids. I browsed through the pictures of previous trips that were on the computer while we waited for the rest of the volunteers to show up. Two or three couples showed up and a handful of older fellas who apparently made the trip regularly.
At some point during this procession of do-gooders, a shockingly attractive young woman walked in. At first glance she looked like she had some native American blood in her. Smooth features spread over a wide face, and eyes I could scarcely look into they were so sharp. Sharp like my grandmothers were, and beautiful like I’d never seen before. I felt like a dog instantly. I did everything in my power not to drool or creep her out with my hungry eyes. Right off the bat we were chatting easily at the bar as we waited to leave. My god. Hooked right there.
A big truck rolled to a stop outside and we all worked together filling it up with the stuff we would need at the dump. Umbrella, coolers, water, chairs, and a ladder. Next we all climbed into the truck and rolled off on our way to the fruit market. I quickly moved to a spot next to her and we leaned on the side rail and chatted for a bit. She had traveled a lot so I couldn’t impress her on that front. She held a couple degrees and spoke a handful of languages. Ha. Ok charm, do your thing. I was in awe and only succeeded in smiling like a fool.
We stopped for a minute and picked up a couple hundred baguettes. When we reached the market the men who knew the ways were bargaining for bananas, apples, and pineapples. I wandered around looking for ways I could be of help but mostly just staring at her.
Back in truck. Some people separated bananas while others took the wrapping off the apples. I was working the bananas. When we rolled up at the dump the people started running from every direction. Some kids chased the truck and my job was to stop them from grabbing onto the bumper and hurting themselves. The really funny thing is, if one did get hurt, the man who was trying to feed them all would definitely be paying the hospital bills, and any other bills lying around.
We roll up and unload the truck. The girls were instructed to stay in the truck until after the beasts had been fed. By that time a massive crowd had gathered and was milling around the back of the truck in a swarm. Myself and the other men got out and began lining the filthy creatures up into two lines. One for boys and one for girls. When the lines were loosely defined, we began handing out the food. An apple, two bananas, and a baguette to each pair of hungry hands. The pregnant women got a pineapple each as well.
The people who looked a little too clean to be bumming free food were removed from the line by the man in charge. He did it with such gusto and such ease, I can only compare it to a farmer tossing bales of hay. These folks tried every trick in the book to get back in line after they had already gotten their share. They would switch clothes, take off clothes, trade hats, or just give it another shot in the same dress. To be fair, most of the people were smiling. Cheerful bunch of child laborers at the Phnom Penh city dump.
When the food ran out we had some time to play with the kids. They were so sweet and eager. In no time they were crawling all over us, pulling our hair and insisting they get lifted up high in the air. This was about the time the man mentioned that most of em had lice. My beautiful friend and I checked a few of em, and sure enough, lice a plenty. After that their heads didn’t get too close to mine. I still picked them up, but held them out of my imagined lice hopping range.
I noticed that the other tourists weren’t picking the little dirtballs up or really playing with them at all. They only seemed interested in photography. Just me and her. She had such a way with the kids, almost like a kid herself. I would have done just about anything to stay with her there, playing with those wonderful kids. Who am I kidding though, I was getting hungry and they weren’t sharing any of the food I bought.
Back in the city we had a drink at the bar with some of the old guys. They didn’t interest me in the slightest, but she seemed capable of entertaining anyone who wanted to talk. Blessing or a curse? I’m hooked. She invited me up to her new apartment she had just rented with another friend. I hung out for a bit then headed off to the lake to get cleaned up. Not before we had agreed to meet for a drink on the lake later. At this point I’m thinking this is going too well and I’m not even trying. I practically skipped the whole way back to my four-dollar room.
When she showed up on the lakeside I nearly fell over. This chick cleans up. I mean she had me before but now I’m tripping on myself. Short hair pulled back in a pony tail, strait bangs always in the way, and dangly earrings. Oh my god. And she has on a kind of base ball jacket with prints of hound dogs all over it. So hilarious and so fucking sexy. She insisted that her hair was all wrong, and that the jacket was just a joke, but I couldn’t imagine anything looking better.
We sat down in a pub and her roommate and another friend joined us. I was off the booze at the time and struggled awkwardly through conversations with the new personalities. Despite my discomfort, one thing was becoming very clear. I was coming back to Phnom Penh.
i met fritz in the building where i live. he seemed like a sweet old guy so i occasionally stopped in to have a chat with him. i was amazed that such an old relic was still moving around on his own. old people tend to seem sweet when you first meet them, not that fritz isn't a sweet guy. he's a man too though and that became apparent fairly quickly as our conversations progressed.
old fritz had at least one girl who came around and who knows what they got up to together. he was always asking about my love life. still does actually. i find it difficult to kiss and tell with a geriatric, but we could definitely agree on thing: these cambodian girls have a great "bust". you may come for the cheap food, drugs, and accommodations, but you stay for the firmness. it's like a magnet holding you in the country.
anyway, i would visit fritz from time to time and we built up a solid report. old people need company to feel alive as far as i can tell, and there is a lot of wisdom to be gained if your patient enough and can stand the smell. what a dick.
so one day fritz falls down the stairs from his first floor apartment and hurts his leg. i started to stop by more often to help him out with small stuff. i bought him some vitamins and fruit to try and build him back up. sadly he wasn't into the idea of getting better and kept bringing up suicide. i used to be pretty into the thought myself so i kinda enjoyed discussing his options with him. he was planning to just cut his wrists with the blade from his boxcutta so i took that away the first time he mentioned it. pills are the way to go for an old guy. or some smack. i was gearing up to score for him when i decided to give my dad a quick call and get his opinion. he's pretty good for a dose of practical thinking when i need it. him and my mom#2 teri explained that the implications of a mercy kill could be bad. i was likely looking for someone to talk me out of it but i still felt like i let him down.
he just kept giving me his stuff. first his little pen microscope, then his map and all his books. now i have more of his stuff than he does. nice chair, boring ass books ill never read, classical music cd's, and the map i really enjoy. the microscope is great too.
so fritz did eventually get stronger over a couple of weeks. his options were still pretty slim as the crack slut he liked to have over had stolen his laptop, and he didn't have any savings. the landlord was getting tense cause he hadn't paid his rent and was looking more and more like the walking dead. in a sweet way. suddenly there was some sun shine. the landlady's sister invited fritz to come see her farm out in the countryside, and possibly give him a job. well that got fritz excited. he was not suicidal anymore and was practically bouncing around while he packed his little plastic briefcase.
well, here's what they did. they drove him out there, told him his "business visa" was not going to work, and drove him back. seven or eight hour round trip, extremely taxing on an ancient body. while he was occupied with the drive they were nice enough to move all his stuff out of his apartment and have it waiting for him on the street. welcome home old friend.
fritz promptly split when he realized he had been screwed and began wandering the streets. i searched around the area where i thought he may have been heading, but no luck. my roommate told me he had seen him near the river side, but hadn't stopped to talk. i should take a tip from him. mind your business and you have less hassles.
i did finally find him on the street not far from my apartment. he had been wandering and sleeping on the street for two days and nights. he was happy to see me and squeaked on to the back of my bike. he really just wanted a ride to the river to go for an evening swim, but i convinced him to stop in for a beer at my friends bar on the river side. close enough to the river if he still felt like swimming after.
well after a beer and a half he was in fantastic spirits and we were having a great time. he still wanted to swim and had a specific spot picked out. i told him he better let me drive him there, the least i could do. on the ride i had an idea. i could bring him to my favorite guesthouse on the lakeside and he could get a room for cheap and easy access to food while we came up with an idea of what to do next. after some convincing he agreed and we checked him in to the number nine sister.
for the next three months that is where he stayed. he was having a pretty good time making friends with backpackers and coming up with business schemes always. we would have dinner a couple times a week and i introduced him to many of my friends. most of which he forgot immediately after the meal. i was on the lookout always for a place where he could live permanently. as time went on i began to realize that fritz was not fit to live on his own any longer. he was always forgetting things and couldn't handle his money too well. in fact, i was taking care of his money and his passport for this period.
when i lost my job teaching the little kids i loved, i went on a real bender for about two weeks. five weeks actually. so i wasn't visiting old fritz as much as i should have been. something about being smashed around the elderly that just feels wrong. fritz got nervous and asked for his bank book and his passport back. then he took all the money out of the bank. this made me a little nervous as he was staying at the guesthouse on the condition that i would bail him out financially should he die or run up a massive bill. he didn't seem to worried about my griping and actually thought i was pretty funny for stressing out about his situation. in his mind everyone he met was a potential business partner, and they would all quite likely want him to come live with them in their country while he taught them the fine points of management consulting. not a care in the world. well normally, i'm happy if your happy. but mess with my money and i get ornery.
a week ago fritz fell in the shower and broke his hip. again came the topic of suicide and how do give him something without putting myself at risk. this time i really just wanted to let someone else deal with it. after two days of deliberation, we loaded fritz into a tuk tuk and brought him to the hospital er. i contacted his embassy, and immediately felt a tremendous load come off my shoulders. why on earth did i take on such a hopeless project?
i have been back to visit fritz a couple times now. i really enjoy chatting with him. he has had an amazing life. often bragging about visiting sixty countries, holding five or six different passports, and working for very important companies. fritz is an ideas man you see. just tell him what you need and he's off and running. this is quite likely the main reason he took such a keen interest in me, i don't have anything close to a plan and i think this is a real challenge for the old guy. then again, old people just plain need company.
2.don’t say fuck, and don’t say shit. it makes you sound 50 to 60 percent stupider than you would if you didn’t swear. out of respect for him i have taken out all the fucks and shits.
