Yesterday I was on the Leidseplein waiting with a male friend to use the cash machine, when a group of 5 American girls walked by.
I got a whiff of their personalities as well as their conversation, when I overheard the one saying:
“All I know is that when I’m in Vegas, I don’t pay for anything when I’m out.”
Both my friend and I were pretty disgusted by them, and had to laugh at the downright cheek of the one girl, who was probably going to go home having had less than a great time in Amsterdam because – SOB! SHOCK! HORROR! – the guys here didn’t buy all of her sour apple martinis!!! (pout)
I just can’t decide: Are you really disgusted because no one JUMPED at the offer to follow you around a bar and pay for your drinks? Do you feel that this reflects on your own personal worth – that no guy so far has found you worth the cost of a little drink? Or are you just a cheap bitch?
Go back to Vegas then. This is the Netherlands, baby. It works a bit different over here.
American guys are probably just as much blame here. They often times DO insist on buying all the drinks, but I’m not sure why? Are they hoping that the dollar-spent ratio is in direct proportion to the chance-of-ass ratio? Because that’s just sad. In that case, you could probably save money and time and just go and find a hooker. At least that’s a sure thing, hookers rarely say no!
Anyway, here is my challenge to the ladies in the States. Why don’t you buck up for once, and buy the fellas a drink? Sure, because of their macho-ness, they’ll go ‘No, no, don’t be silly’ and try and get the drinks themselves, but you CAN insist you know. You can go up to the bar and get a round yourself, it’s easy! If you’ve never done it, just watch other people at the bar- you’ll get the hang of it soon enough. (And don’t forget to tip the bartender!)
Also, to American guys: Let her buy you a round! You’re worth it, I promise!
Here in Amsterdam, with my group of friends, everyone just takes turns buying rounds. Whether its me with a group of all guys, a mixed group, or out with the girls*. If someone misses a round, no big deal, but if you consistently miss round after round after round, then you’re being a cheap bitch and you’ll be reminded next time that it’s your turn.
An exception to this are if it is known that a friend is going through a rough time financially, then its no big deal to see them through a few rounds. Another exception is if you are not drinking as fast as everyone else, but if that’s the case, then you should bow out of a few rounds when other people are buying, so as not to be greedy! And every now and then, a round might be skipped because you’re distracted in conversation, or in the bathroom, or whatever. Other than that, no one is trying to get in anyone’s pants, so everyone pulls their own weight. I certainly am not trying to get you into bed, so there’s no way in hell I should be supporting your drinking habit while getting no drinks in return.
I would be embarrassed if I didn’t buy a fair share of the rounds on a night out, and so when I overheard this spoiled little bitch of a girl pouting that she wasn’t getting fawned over by the male population in Amsterdam, I was ashamed. Ashamed for her, and for the message that she is bringing over from the States with her. Thanks for being such a positive ambassador for us American chicks!
Are you REALLY surprised that guys aren’t tripping over eachother to get to you? Because I’m not.
* Um, having said this, Wendy and I owe Alexandra a few rounds after the other night! Sorry hon, next few on me!
** Oh! OH! I just remembered one time when I was out with a group of guy friends, and an American guy at the bar we were drinking in fell in with us. We were, as normal, buying rounds one at a time, and because we were nice and not about to leave this guy out of the loop, we asked him every time if he’d like a drink. He was always, “Sure! Gee, thanks!” and ordering vodka red bulls, of ALL THINGS (cha-ching!). Never once did he reciprocate and buy anyone else a drink, never once did he buy a round. And then, the real kick in the nuts to everyone there, was when he chirped up, ‘Wow you guys are SO NICE! Everyone keeps buying me drinks!’
Yes, that’s right. We are showering you with drinks because we just LOVE your insightful and witty conversation, not because we are dying of thirst and got tired of waiting for you to offer to buy a round. No, really- why don’t you come with us to the next bar even though we didn’t invite you, and let us buy you some more drinks? We would love nothing better.
I mean, how oblivious can some people be? Get a clue, don’t be so naive, and offer a round, is all I’m saying. It’s simple good manners.
It is 3.33 am and I am NOT sleeping, and that is because as I was drifting sweetly off to sleep here at the hotel tonight, the door buzzer buzzed. After midnight, we don’t just let anyone in, so we ask them via the video monitor on the front door to flash their room key to make sure they are a guest. This time it was two younger guys, who didn’t understand what I was saying until the tenth time I repeated it, when they finally quickly flashed the key and I let them in.
So I laid down again to hopefully fall asleep for what remaining hours I can, and I heard footsteps again in the hall stairs. From where I lay in the hotel lobby (which is locked down for the night), I can see the security camera screen, and the two boys had again gone to the hotel front door. I watched for awhile, highly suspicious, and next thing you know two more kids come to the door and they quickly sneak past the lobby door to the stairs and head up. By the time I got it unlocked and got to the stairs, they were still on their way up, but no matter what I said they ignored me and kept going. I looked up on the reception system, and it turns out only one kid rented the room as a (cheaper) single and 4 of them are staying there. And it turns out they are French.
From working in HoReCa in Europe (hotels, restaurants and catering), I can already say pretty much flat out that I hate French people. I know thats a broad generalisation, but they are hands down the rudest people to serve. Maybe I should say that I hate French people in this context, where they are the customer and I have to be nice to them no matter how rude they are to me. So this whole ignoring-me-on-the-stairs really got my blood boiling. And of course it didn’t help that they woke me up.
Double whammy against the French kids.
So I grabbed the spare key to their room and headed up there to give them a right good speaking to and maybe kick a few of them out into the cold night. And let me tell you the thought of doing so just made me giddy with evil, evil revenge for every French person who snapped their fingers at me in the pub, or every large group of French people that each ordered coffees, teas, and cappucinos and left 13 cents as a tip on a party of 12, and basically for every other slight I have suffered at the hands of French people everywhere.
And then I stopped myself. The reception system said that the kid was born in 1990, which makes him and his friends 18 years old.
I flashed back to 1998 when I was 18 and backpacking through Europe for the first time. I met a guy from Jersey, Kevin*, on a pub crawl in Rome and when we parted ways we made hopeful plans to meet again in Florence when I got there a day after he did (out of curiosity I was travelling further south first to where my family’s ancestors come from).
By some awesome stoke of luck, we did meet up, when I passed him sitting on the supports of a bridge over the river Arno a day later, drinking a bottle of red wine. We stayed out all night drinking and dancing until well after my hostel locked down for the night, and not wanting to part ways too soon (he was leaving the next day), we went back to his hotel where he tried to sneak me in for the night so we could……finish our conversation. Yeah, our conversation.
The night porter at his hotel wasn’t having any of it. He demanded to see my passport, and when he couldn’t find me listed in any room, he pretty much went ape shit, and kicked me out into the brisk summer night. Kevin grabbed his belongings, told the guy off, and came running after me.
Long story short we wandered aimlessly, our alcohol buzzes wearing off while fatigue set in, feeling a bit sorry for ourselves but still young and happy and invincible, and able to find humor in the situation. We eventually found this little gem of a hotel the name of which escapes me. It was really kitsch and sweet and we spent a short night there before parting ways the next morning at the train station.
So, all of this came back in a flood of memories while I was on the way up the stairs to tell off these French kids and all of a sudden, I just couldn’t. They’re 18 years old, and they’re probably having one hell of a time in Amsterdam for the night, so why cause them any trouble. To be honest, it’s no big deal and causes me no extra work, so I thought, ‘Fuggedaboutit’. I won’t be the same kind of asshole night porter that we met in Italy. I won’t try to ruin their buzz.
So I curled back under my covers, which is where I am now, sadly awake, but swimming in happy memories of being 18 again, young and happy and invincible.
* Names have NOT been changed to protect the innocent. Just so you know, Kevin was not a one-night stand, we actually continued dating when we eventually both got back to New Jersey. Although the relationship didn’t last, we have kept in contact over the years and just last week I got an email from him. I am pleased to report that he is happy and expecting his second child with his wife soon. Hi Kevin!!!