From Goat Barbecue To Sheraton Ball Room

I've been getting more comfortable with planning lessons over the months. No longer do I need thirty minutes to an hour the day before to plan my lessons. Now, I just open the book fifteen minutes before class and I know what I'm going to teach and how. This has really helped having a social life, too. So even if I have to wake up at 5:30am to get ready for school, I can still go out on the weekends.
After class on Saturday, Daphne and I went to meet our friend Rob[the one that crashed my bike a couple months back] and some of his work friends at a local goat place. It was a big place with a very small menu: steamed goat, roasted goat, grilled goat, sour mixed goat. The food was really good, we ordered the steamed goat which came in a large clay hotpot with goat meat, goat brain, and some other parts of the goat we couldn't identify but were delicious none the less. One of the guys notices that a lot of the servers are at the doorway watching some drama going on outside. As we're debating what they could be rubbernecking about, I decided to be nosey and go have a look. Just outside was a tow truck with a very familiar motorbike loaded on the back. I run up to the tow man yelling, "My bike! My bike! What are you doing to my bike!" The towman and the officer nearby were more than a little surprised to see me. They were expecting to tow conflict free, and in that area of town they least expected to see a foreigner come out yelling at them. Neither of them could speak English, and the towman was already making movements to unload my bike, keeping his eyes on the officer for the go-ahead. The officer was confused, tried to explain something, but failing through the language barrier. I hand him my ownership papers. A nearby local who speak some English asked the translated question of whether the bike was mine or a rental. I lied, saying that I rented, as I am unlicensed I would surely have gotten my bike taken away if I admitted to owning it. Thankfully, the bike was lowered and my papers handed back to me. Apparently, where I parked it was for a food stall that had closed up since I had been eating my goat and all the other bikes had left with it, leaving just mine. There was an official parking lot across the way that I was supposed to park in. What luck. To have noticed the servers watching when I did, and to have been nosey enough to inquire about it. I would've been rather sore to have come out of there and not had my bike anywhere in sight? Where do you go if your bike gets towed here? How do you even know it was towed and not stolen? Not a clue. And I'd be happy if I never had to find out.
Last night we had our company Christmas party. They had it at the Sheraton with a massive buffet and free flowing open bar. It was nice event and the food was excellent, but the down side was that since the school had so many employees and the Sheraton was so expensive, we couldn't bring any guests. Daphne talked me into going anyways and made dinner arrangements with our friend Rob[of crashing motorbikes] so I wouldn't feel guilty for going without her. Luckily, instead of stamping hands when we entered, some people got stickers on their shoulders that didn't do a good job sticking. It wasn't long until stickers were finding their ways off of ILA shoulders and onto those of Daphne and Rob. When we were heading home, the garage security was asking for another 15000VND on top of the 8000VND I had already paid for parking. The average price of parking in the city is 3-5oooVND. I kept a smile, shook my head and told him, 'no, pay already' over and over, pretending that his English wasn't good enough for me to understand. When he finally said, 'you pay more, you know, you foreigner,' the smile came off my face and the engine turned on. He quietly moved himself out of my way and pretended not to notice. Up the ramp we went and into the night.