Observing the local wildlife. Specifically in bars.

January 20th, 2012 § 1 comment § permalink

Try and follow my train of thought here, it takes a couple of weird turns.

Let me preface this post by saying that this is not an expat blog.  I don’t wax on and on about how the Dutch do this or why the Dutch do that.  I prefer to spend my time trying to blend in and experience life in the Netherlands rather than ostracize myself by pointing out how Dutch people are different than me because of x, y, z.

THAT BEING SAID, I was on the way home from work tonight after an event (Dutch company, mostly Dutch guests) when it hit me that there is nothing quite like a Dutch person at a bar at the end of the night after the bar closes.  After last call, whether it is out of sheer stubbornness or a complete lack of shame, you will always, ALWAYS get a few Dutch people begging at the bar for more drinks, no please just one, aw come on you can sell me one, it’s just me, one beer won’t hurt, etc, etc, etc.  They even have the nerve to get annoyed with you if you are firm, but I imagine that’s mostly the alcohol speaking at that point in the night.

In my 13 years of bar work (in 4 countries), I have served citizens from pretty much every member state of the United Nations.  In Brussels the bar where I worked looked onto the EU parliament building- a parade of Europeans would come there to drink after work, so I had a lot of time to study the different countries’ attitudes and habits in a bar scenario.  I tried to think: was there any other culture that is as annoyingly persistant (from a bar work perspective) at the end of the night?  Nope, really not.  I can pick out some other strong seemingly country-specific traits, such as: Spanish customers- always order tea or coffee, always come in a large group but pay separately, never tip.  But that end-of-night begging for drink thing?  That right there is very Dutch.

I tried to think of how it is in the States, but that’s when it hit me that I really have no clue.  My entire adult life (from the age of 20 to 31) has been spent in Europe, the European bar culture is what I know.  What I know of the American bar culture is from my few trips there as an adult, basically a tourist experience.  At one point, in New York City, I had to sheepishly ask my bartender friend (Irish born and raised but he’d spent 5 years bartending in NYC at that point) how I was supposed to tip in the States.  I left the country before I was old enough to drink in bars.  I have waited on Americans in Europe though.  Their country-specific trait?  They ask a lot of questions (“What brand of water do you serve?”).

And yet, and yet.  Back to my earlier point. That begging for drink at the end of the night, after last call, after the bar is closed?  That is something that I don’t think I will ever get used to, nor will I ever do, no matter how long I’m here, whether I am drinking with or serving alcohol to the Dutch population.

And that’s about as expat-y as this blog will get.

Bum Leg

January 1st, 2012 § 5 comments § permalink

Night after night after night, and year after year- in about eighty percent of my dreams- I have been plagued by a leg (the right one) that doesn’t work properly.

What do you call a reoccurring theme in a dream?  It’s not the same dream over and over again, but rather that I always have a right leg that refuses to work in whatever dream I am having, whether I am dreaming that I am in Israel, Amsterdam or my old school, whether it is a dream about animals or work or shopping.

The leg drags behind me and I am slow and encumbered.  I need to pull myself forward by holding on to walls, handrails, friends or sometimes the ground.  I will the leg to take the weight of me, to remain strong under me, but it never works.  The leg refuses.

My dream-self has come to terms with this handicap, as I assume anyone with a handicap eventually would.  Over time- I have had this recurring theme for years now- I have learned how to ignore the problem because I am so used to it, if you can call slowly sinking to the ground and dragging myself forward on hands and knees “ignoring it”.  I press on with the dream despite the leg.  Or I explain to people in my dreams, “It’s just my leg, it doesn’t work properly.  I can’t walk so fast, can we slow down?”

I wish my dream-self would invest in a dream-wheelchair.  It would make my dream-life so much easier.