AN "UGLY AMERICAN" STORY

Written By:

Lt Col Hank Brandli

USAF Ret Melbourne Fl

Dysentery (Amoebic or others) was a common infirmity to

most GI's in Vietnam! At the onset of one of my several bouts

with the bug (Ironically I had Multiple Sclerosis at the time

but wouldn't find out for 6 more years) I became acutely aware

of the expression "happiness is a dry fart."

One early morning in the spring of 1967, my roommate Jim

and I were riding to work in the back seat of a tiny

Vietnamese taxi -- literally folded into the old blue and

yellow Renault (Jim at 6'4" and me at 6'2"). Suddenly, as we

left Saigon center and turned on Trung Hao Dao on our way

to Cholon, a horrific cramp seized my gut warning me to

find a facility immediately. As I broke into a cold sweat

and started sucking air slowly, There, on the corner, was

a SHELL (with their native insignia) station.

I shouted "di' di!!", (meaning quickly, quickly)

to the taxi driver, pointing frantically to the gas

station. Jim, asked with much concern, "what is wrong?"

I replied(through clenched teeth, sucking air), "I've got

two minutes tops to make it to a toilet, or you'll know

first-hand what is wrong."

The taxi pulled off the crowded street into the station

away from pumps and stopped. I whipped open the small door

and charged into the station (saying a little prayer). I

entered the fairly modern looking place and panted,

"twalett!" "twaalett!"

The Vietnamese attendant looking curious smiled and

pointed toward the hallway in the back.(Many times, I saw

Vietnamese relieve themselves on grass areas all over the

city...wish I could.) Darting toward what I thought would

be a relief station, unbuckling my belt while running. I

yanked open the toilet door, breathed a lot slower now, and

I can honestly say, got the shock of my life. People were

inside! Not using the toilet, but living in there!!!!! A

whole damn family of five! They were all sitting around

on the floor with the commode draped with a cloth like a

dining table. Not taking any more precious time to

observe, but as near as I can recollect, I think they

were having a meal! I immediately bowed to this family

and backed out mumbling something in the smattering of

their language that I possessed. Now it was cold sweat

time -- the cramps were fast and furious.

As I leaned back against the wall in agony, all I could

think of was, is this what it felt like to be in labor? I

then spied another door. I dashed toward it. Inside was

pitch black, but at least there were no voices indicating

inhabitancy. With no choice at all now, I performed my

"dirty American" deed -- not knowing or caring where I was.

The decision was made by the laws of nature, not me. I then

made a rapid exit back to the taxi.

Jim, of course, was extremely anxious to hear my

explanation of what had happened within the gas station.

After I told him about invading the "live-in family

toilet" followed by my desperate decision, he broke up.

He was hysterical -- I can still hear him laughing. I

thought he would never stop. He finally choked -- and

said, "I hope the attendant has a light somewhere in his

little dark room, otherwise he's going to remember this

ugly American for a long time!"

I just groaned from the humiliation of it all, and

prayed to reach my destination without another mishap.

"Public" toilets are one thing, but I learned a whole new

meaning of the word "occupied!"

The End

Author's note: We've all got some "shitty stories"

to tell about Vietnam, but this one has a "dob"

of humor.