JADIEL: “La Cucaracha”

I open the curtains of my hotel room and look outside, where the early morning Vietnamese village life is a bustling scene of an unrecorded mute movie. I do have to go now, duty is calling, so I will have to watch this episode some other day.

I button my shirt, glance in the mirror to adjust what needs to be adjusted and take a seat on the sofa. I put my socks on, first left and then right. Left and right foot, I mean, because there’s no such thing as left and right socks. There’s no green or red colour mark on the soles of socks, like they used to put on children’s shoes to indicate which one is left and which one is right. Socks are neutral, they don’t chose sides. You can put them on either foot, left or right. So let me rephrase: I put my socks on, first on the left foot and then on the right foot. Right and then left would have been possible as well. By contrast, twice left or twice right would have been rather odd, though to my knowledge, there is no law in any jurisdiction in the world which prohibits doing so.

I put my shoes on also, for it would have felt like an uncompleted procedure not to do so after putting the socks on. I stand up, take my luggage and step towards the door. But there’s something not quite right. I feel something bugging me in my right shoe. Something presses my toes slightly. For a second, I wonder whether I should just ignore it and step out, or take my shoes off again. I chose to sit down, and unlace my shoes. Well, I unlace one actually, the right one, for it is pointless to unlace the left one as well, when I only need to find out what is hidden inside the right one. I take my shoe off, hold it upside down, and shake it like a bartender would shake a cocktail shaker. Something lands on the carpet. I look down and see a tiny creature, on its back, waving its little arms in despair, crying for help. A cockroach! “Goooooooooood Morning, Vietnam…”. Now that’s a real movie.