The first mistake anyone can make when entering a Dutch bar, café or restaurant and trying to get the waiters attention is; entering a Dutch bar, café or restaurant and trying to get the waiters attention. Dutch waiters simply don’t like their attention being got. It is a fact of nature. Trying to get the attention of a Dutch waiter, waitress or any other member of bar staff is a battle of wills which can rarely be won. You might eventually get served but this only occurs when the Dutch waiter has decided to acknowledge your attempts to do so (which they will still do begrudgingly).
For example:Whenever you enter a café in Holland it is inevitable that the waiter behind the bar is cleaning a glass. It is also inevitable that they will suddenly develop extreme tunnel vision and your approach to the bar will go unnoticed. In addition to this, they will become extremely dedicated to the cleanliness and hygiene of that one single glass in a way that suggests an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder as they clean it over and over again and seemingly fails to notice you waiting for them to put it down. It should be noted that a blind and deaf man has more awareness of his surroundings than a Dutch waiter who wants to avoid dealing with customers.
This glass cleaning technique will continue well past the point of uncomfortable-ness and force you to question your own existence as all of your coughing, arm waving and flair firing continue to go unnoticed during their Gollum like fascination with the very clean glass.
However, if you have the strength to wait long enough even a Dutch waiter will eventually have to admit to themselves that the glass is clean enough, put it down and (if they don’t pick up another) let their attention be got.
There is one very important thing that must be remembered once you have the attention of a Dutch waiter; Do not attempt to order in Dutch. Seriously, don’t do it. The waiter is already unhappy that they had to give you their attention. If you attempt to order in Dutch you will become their play thing as they pick your Dutch speaking ability to pieces and refuse to for fill your order until you can pronounce it better then Queen Betrx herself. You will not be allowed to switch back to English either. They will force you to finish what you started in the interest of, “learning the language.”
In fact, Dutch waiters are so strict when it comes to the use of their own language that if they were used as part of the Inburgeringstoets process (Dutch Immigration and citizenship test) most applicants would probably end up being barred from the country. That or give up after being ignored for so long and move to Belgium.
You better enjoy that beer once you have it because it will be a long time until you get another. Dutch waiters really don’t like their attention to be got.
This is something I have never done on this blog before but it is time for me to make a formal apology… to the people of England. I have done something terrible in a moment of stupidity and… well… there is no way to sugar coat this so I’m just going to come clean and say it. The Dutch now own England and it is all my fault.
During a Sunday afternoon in an Amsterdam bar I engaged in a game of pool with some friends. We decided it would be fun to form two teams; Dutch vs. British. After a few friendly games we decided to make things ‘interesting’ by putting a little wager on the table. This ‘little’ wager was that if we (the British Team) won we would own Holland and if they (the Dutch Team) won they would own England. I think you can guess where this story is going. It seemed like a good idea at the time right up until the point when we (the British Team) lost to them (The Dutch Team). Now our home land is owned by two Dutch guys with the must Dutch sounding names imaginable, Jochem and Jeroen. However, we now all have to call them King Jochem and King Jeroen (unless one of them opts for being the Queen).
This means that any body living in England who does not wish to wear orange, eat bitter ballen or listen to music by Frans Bauer should emigrate to Wales or Scotland (which I luckily did not gamble away). I know this will be hard on all of you but as you all try to learn Welsh or try to learn how to love deep fried Mars Bars and pizzas I hope you can take some comfort in the fact that it was a very close game. It all came down to the black ball in the end and some jolly bad luck.
I’ve not spoken to the Queen yet but I expect that she will be very angry with me when the news reaches her. I fully expect I will receive a jolly good telling off with lots of finger waving and use of my full name as I look sheepishly at the floor.
But fear not people of England. If someone is willing to lend me their country for just a short while I’m sure I can win England back. I hear there is an underground chicken racing game organized by an ex-mob boss which is taking place in just a few days. I’ve got a good tip so I’m sure to win a few other countries in the process. Trust me, what could possibly go wrong?
I have spent every evening of the last week sat in different bars around Amsterdam consuming various alcoholic beverages with random friends. For some strange reason almost every possible type of social excuse for getting intoxicated has occurred with in this one week.
The only explanation for this that I can think of is a very strange alignment of stars which has had a profound effect on my destiny. A destiny (it seems) that was to be mainly spent in various stages of drunkenness. If I had read my horoscope for the last week I am sure it would have read a little something like this:
- Monday -
An invitation to participate in the celebration of a friend’s birthday gives you the opportunity to try something new when you visit a local cocktail bar.
Unfamiliarity with cocktails will lead you to select drinks at random by using the close your eyes and point system of selection until you find the one you like. However, the taste will become less of a deciding factor in the selection process as you haphazardly drink your way through the list of available brightly coloured and strangely named beverages.
Your lucky drink today is: Singapore Sling (other wise known as ‘that red looking one’)
- Tuesday -
You might feel a little hung over today but the return of a familiar face to Amsterdam is cause for more alcohol fuelled celebration at your local bar as you listen to exotic stories of travels around far away countries. Each new story brings with it another round of drinks.
Beware friends baring vodka limes, especially those who do not have to go to work the following morning when you do.
Your lucky phrase today is: Happy Hour
- Wednesday -
You might be woken up by a hang over that makes it feel like there are dwarfs mining for resources in your skull but there are more stories to be heard and more alcohol to be consumed before your visitor returns to his travels.
Your lucky word today is: Nurofen
- Thursday -
Saying goodbye to a co-worker as he leaves the company might be sad but it also provides the motivation for more alcohol consumption today as you reminisce about old times and try to ignore your ever growing hang over.
Arriving late at the bar might save you from early drunkenness but an empty stomach and attempts to synchronise your drinking with the rest of the group counter acts this preventative measure. You soon catch up with and then over take your friends in levels of intoxication. Later you try to find something to eat as you stumble home.
Your lucky food today is: Febo
- Friday -
You are hung over but it is Friday. Do you really need an excuse?
Your lucky number today is: The phone number of the local AA group
Whenever someone suggests having ‘just one beer’ after a day at the office everyone knows that what they really mean is this; “Let’s start with just one beer and then proceed to drink more, much more.” The person who makes the suggestion of ‘just one beer’ might not even be aware of what they are really saying but they are saying it anyway.
It is not long before ‘just one beer’ turns into two beers, then three, four or five and eventually finishes with you stumbling home, falling asleep on your couch and spilling beer on yourself when you were attempting to watch repeats of Law and Order that you were far too drunk to follow the plot of anyway.
Despite this risk myself and a couple of work friends decided to go for ‘just one beer’ last Thursday evening after work. However, one member of our group wanted to go home instead. I tried to convince him that he should join us for ‘just one beer’ on the grounds that if he didn’t he was a pansy and not a real man. Despite my persuasive and logical argument (which lasted for several minutes) he was not convinced and returned home instead. The rest of us went for ‘just one beer’ at a local bar.
The following morning I over slept. I over slept quite badly. I had to phone someone at the office and ask them to let the rest of my department know I would be late. I phoned the person who had not gone for ‘just one drink’ with us. Considering I had called him a pansy the evening before this turned out to be a mistake. When I arrived at the office I discovered this email had been sent around the department:
“You could have just told them I over slept,” I told him after I read it.
“Did you really just over sleep?” He asked.
I paused for a second before replying, “Yes, I simply over slept.… because I forgot to set my alarm.… when I stumbled to bed.… after waking up on the couch.… because I spilt beer on myself.”
Law and Order is a very confusing show when you are inebriated.
There is an ancient ritual that has been passed down through time from father to son since the sun first cast light across the surface of our tiny world. Women have only heard of its existence through whispers and rumours. They have never been allowed to attend since their attendance would be an unforgivable violation of the first rule of this sacred ritual. This ritual has gone by many names during its long existence but you might know it as The Lads Night In.
For centuries womankind has only been able to imagine what depraved events unfold at these sacred gatherings. However, I can assure you gentle lady that the reality is much worse then you can conceive. You might have visualized scenes of uncontrolled animal like aggression as men resort to their primeval nature, fighting each other for domination and leadership over the proceedings, ripping raw meat from the bone of a freshly slaughtered cow with their bear teeth, telling jokes so depraved that would make a prostitute blush, drinking ale until only one man is left standing, howling at the moon in a celebration of everything that it means to be a man (in a non homo erotic way).
Last Saturday I went to one of these events and I am finally going to lift the vial of secrecy around this sacred ritual and tell you what really happens. Revealing this secret may very well make me an out cast amongst my own kind. I will be hunted for the information that I am about to pass onto you female reader. The truth will shock you. It may make you weep uncontrollably. The world will seem like a much darker place and your perception of reality will be for ever changed once you know the truth. If you have a weak heart you should stop reading now. You can not say I did not warn you.
We ate Doritos and watched the Eurovision Song Contest. I didn’t think Finland were as good as last year.
Categories: 
