There are a few perks to working on a pub crawl. The simple allure of having a staff t-shirt, the authentic sensation of being an amateur rockstar, and of course the free drinks. The free drinks can be a dangerous bonus. In Amsterdam, on a nippy Sunday in November last year I found out why. That day, with the promise of winter cutting through our clothes, we had found it difficult to catch the attention and imagination of the tourists in town and the pub crawl turned out to be a bit of a dud, about thirty people or so. This is measly compared to the figures that summer pulled in of three hundred or so every night. To commiserate our vain attempts of that day we decided to at least reward ourselves with some vodka cranberry shots to the extent to which we were satisfied and buzzing.
With the first bar finished we made our way to the second. While the general pub crawlers were being herded to the next bar, a few of the staff not working that night indulged in slacking at the back. It was at this point that we entered an infamous and familiar part of Amsterdam, the Red Light District. This is where we as staff spent most of our days exploring and hounding tourists to come party with us. It was an interesting place to spend every day and soon enough we discovered and were shown each and every nook and cranny. So there we were in our niche of sex shows, coffeeshops and prostitutes. We crossed a bridge nearing the Red Light Bar, our second stop, and opposite the corner of the bridge was a standard prostitue in lingerie jiggling her junk.
She caught our attention and we enquired as to whether she could jiggle her junk a little more enthusaistically and I showed her how. She complied. Then I got that familiar feeling of an obvious accident waiting to happen moonlighting as an excellent idea. I recognised the feeling from previous experiences, like when I jumped off a building at a festival holding an umbrella in a moment of Mary Poppins inspiration and every stage dive I have ever failed at, but I chose to ignore these warning lights. I was going through a breakdancing phase at the time, amateur stuff really but I thought this was the perfect time and place to push the envelope. As they say, you don't know where the edge is until you've been over it. I attempted something in the breakdancing field akin to Tony Hawk's breakthrough 900 degree spin at the '97 X-Games in BMXing. I put my right hand through my legs and grabbed my ass and passionately tried to rip myself forward and around, a standing somersault. I was trying to break boundaries but all I ended up breaking was my teeth. My feet had stayed planted and my face had gone on its own route straight to the floor. I found myself on the floor with two teeth in my hands, my mouth dripping blood and a flabergasted gang of onlookers.
Keg a fellow pub crawl guide, witness and friend helped me out. We got in the taxi and decided to head to the hospital. Somehow, somewhere in the taxi i lost one of my teeth, it fell out of my hand and simply disappeared. It was the smaller of the two so didn't seem like too much of an issue. We arrived at the hospital and scurried into the emergency room, we went up to the large information counter that had two sections of desks put together.
"Hurro, I'v knocked my out my two front teef" I admitted sadly.
"Do you still have your teeth with you?" The nurse asked calmy.
"Yeah, I've got it right here" and I pulled it up to show her proudly but as I held it aloft I squeezed it a little too tightly and it popped out of my grip, shot forward and without even bouncing slipped cleanly between the two counters. There was a moment of silence as we comprehended what just happened. Then I slowly turned to Keg and told him in a defeated tone, "That's it man, thanks, you can go home now". I think he laughed. We managed to wangle some information from her and get out of there, and that was how that Sunday in Amsterdam came to a close.
The Aftermath
The situation was not ideal. I woke up the next morning missing two of my front teeth with no real idea as to what to do next. Of course the kicker was that I had just recently spent two unemployed months in beautiful Barcelona, BBQing on rooftops, exploring the city and spending more money than I had. The result was that I returned to Amsterdam with no money and had not really managed to make much since I had been back, I had 40 euros to my name. Oh, and I also had absolutley no insurance. I took stock of what I had - no money, no insurance and no teeth. It was a tricky situation. I did however have an awesome mullet and the moustache of a mexican teenager because of Movember. I've never looked more like a hill-billy truck driver, First stop was the free clinic that opened at 11pm. I spent the day feeling sorry for myself and eating chips on one side of my mouth. I considered my options, become a dishwasher and save up money to fix the teeth, become a crack dealer because I so closely resembled one, but first stop was a dentist. The first dentist I found was a young and nervous guy from China. He told me I needed root canal and that it would cost close to 2000 euros to repair. I left and walked home alone in the rain. That was the low point. The high point was three days later when I had found a sympathetic dentist, borrowed money from my boss and gotten my teeth fixed. That night was one of the best parties of my life. I was back. Now I have two fake teeth, a story and a fear of break dancing. My new teeth are better than new and even have some added extras. They vibrate when danger looms and glow flourescent blue when I get excited, which is awesome. So people, please remember do not try and impress a prostitute by breakdancing on a bridge, no good will ever come of it.
With the first bar finished we made our way to the second. While the general pub crawlers were being herded to the next bar, a few of the staff not working that night indulged in slacking at the back. It was at this point that we entered an infamous and familiar part of Amsterdam, the Red Light District. This is where we as staff spent most of our days exploring and hounding tourists to come party with us. It was an interesting place to spend every day and soon enough we discovered and were shown each and every nook and cranny. So there we were in our niche of sex shows, coffeeshops and prostitutes. We crossed a bridge nearing the Red Light Bar, our second stop, and opposite the corner of the bridge was a standard prostitue in lingerie jiggling her junk.
She caught our attention and we enquired as to whether she could jiggle her junk a little more enthusaistically and I showed her how. She complied. Then I got that familiar feeling of an obvious accident waiting to happen moonlighting as an excellent idea. I recognised the feeling from previous experiences, like when I jumped off a building at a festival holding an umbrella in a moment of Mary Poppins inspiration and every stage dive I have ever failed at, but I chose to ignore these warning lights. I was going through a breakdancing phase at the time, amateur stuff really but I thought this was the perfect time and place to push the envelope. As they say, you don't know where the edge is until you've been over it. I attempted something in the breakdancing field akin to Tony Hawk's breakthrough 900 degree spin at the '97 X-Games in BMXing. I put my right hand through my legs and grabbed my ass and passionately tried to rip myself forward and around, a standing somersault. I was trying to break boundaries but all I ended up breaking was my teeth. My feet had stayed planted and my face had gone on its own route straight to the floor. I found myself on the floor with two teeth in my hands, my mouth dripping blood and a flabergasted gang of onlookers.
Keg a fellow pub crawl guide, witness and friend helped me out. We got in the taxi and decided to head to the hospital. Somehow, somewhere in the taxi i lost one of my teeth, it fell out of my hand and simply disappeared. It was the smaller of the two so didn't seem like too much of an issue. We arrived at the hospital and scurried into the emergency room, we went up to the large information counter that had two sections of desks put together.
"Hurro, I'v knocked my out my two front teef" I admitted sadly.
"Do you still have your teeth with you?" The nurse asked calmy.
"Yeah, I've got it right here" and I pulled it up to show her proudly but as I held it aloft I squeezed it a little too tightly and it popped out of my grip, shot forward and without even bouncing slipped cleanly between the two counters. There was a moment of silence as we comprehended what just happened. Then I slowly turned to Keg and told him in a defeated tone, "That's it man, thanks, you can go home now". I think he laughed. We managed to wangle some information from her and get out of there, and that was how that Sunday in Amsterdam came to a close.
The Aftermath
The situation was not ideal. I woke up the next morning missing two of my front teeth with no real idea as to what to do next. Of course the kicker was that I had just recently spent two unemployed months in beautiful Barcelona, BBQing on rooftops, exploring the city and spending more money than I had. The result was that I returned to Amsterdam with no money and had not really managed to make much since I had been back, I had 40 euros to my name. Oh, and I also had absolutley no insurance. I took stock of what I had - no money, no insurance and no teeth. It was a tricky situation. I did however have an awesome mullet and the moustache of a mexican teenager because of Movember. I've never looked more like a hill-billy truck driver, First stop was the free clinic that opened at 11pm. I spent the day feeling sorry for myself and eating chips on one side of my mouth. I considered my options, become a dishwasher and save up money to fix the teeth, become a crack dealer because I so closely resembled one, but first stop was a dentist. The first dentist I found was a young and nervous guy from China. He told me I needed root canal and that it would cost close to 2000 euros to repair. I left and walked home alone in the rain. That was the low point. The high point was three days later when I had found a sympathetic dentist, borrowed money from my boss and gotten my teeth fixed. That night was one of the best parties of my life. I was back. Now I have two fake teeth, a story and a fear of break dancing. My new teeth are better than new and even have some added extras. They vibrate when danger looms and glow flourescent blue when I get excited, which is awesome. So people, please remember do not try and impress a prostitute by breakdancing on a bridge, no good will ever come of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment