How are U?

Why are people "U"-ing me? I'm cool. I'm young. I work in a coffeeshop. People like me don't get "u"-ed.

The problem is, all these adorable little teenagers and oollege kids (am I THAT much older than they are?) come into the shop and I say "Hej. Alles goed?" And they invariably answer "Ja. En met (pause)...U?" Like they doubt it a little. Like, "is she an 'U'?"

Once you've entered the twijfel zone, you really are never getting any younger.

What is really funny is that I run into regular customers all the time. They always look at me so sheepishly, too. I guess it's like seeing your grade-school teacher at the supermarket and realizing for the first time that she exists outside the classroom and buys Cap'n Crunch.

The other day at city hall, I saw THREE regular customers. That's pretty high density for 3 p.m. on a Thursday.

This is what they do:

Look at me like "Hey, it's that lady! Oh no, does she recognize me? She does! (Smile sheepishly) I hope she doesn't call me out and say "Hey, aren't you the kid who always buys three Amnesia joints and a 10-bag of White Widow?" O.K. be cool. She won't call mom. Or will she? She's an 'U' just like my mother! No, it's probably ok...

Then finally... "Hi!"

But I know they're thinking: "What are 'U' doing here?"

Personal Space

So, if you go into an almost-empty restaurant with one occupied table, where do you sit?

If you're American, you sit at the table farthest from the occupied table. If you are Dutch, you sit RIGHT NEXT TO IT.

WTF? Stay away!

I've asked Dutch people about this phenomenon, and they all say the same thing - it's for the gezelligheid.

I don't find it gezelling to have strange (Dutch) people listening to my conversations and bumping me with their asses whenever they move their chairs. Am I alone here? They want to sit next to you, but not make small talk. It's the omgekeerd wereld. Dutch people like closeness, but don't like chatting.

No one in Holland EVER talks to strangers in a chit-chatty way with ONE notable exception: doctors' waiting rooms. You walk in and shout "Good morning, everyone!" and take a seat.

Now, in America, this is like, the ONE time we don't want to talk to strangers. We have a privacy thing when it comes to medical visits, so don't expect us to talk there.

And keep your germs to yourself and go sit on the other side of the waiting room, while you're at it...

Whooooo are you? Who, who, who,who?

A kid comes into the coffeeshop last week with an ID that doesn't really look like him. Plus, it's all cracked and almost broken in half. He knows "his" date of birth, so I ask his Zodiac sign. Here's the rest of the conversation:

HIM: "I don't know"

ME: "You don't know your sign?"

HIM: "No. But I think October is Scorpio" (Damn, he's right, but WTF? In the meantime, I see a middle initial on the ID.)

ME: "What's your middle name?"

HIM: "I have no idea."

This is just getting laughable, but the picture looks enough like him that I give it one last ditch and say "Do you have ANYTHING else with your name on it? A credit card? A school ID? His wallet is totally empty.

At this point, I switch to English in total exasperation and say
"Are you seriously going to keep this up?"

I threw him out, much to his indignation, but I wondered, at what point would someone just give up and say, "OK, you got me. Bummer. I'm outta here." This kid hung on until the bitter end, acting like my coworker and I were the nutjobs.

Kids: Do better research. Old people were kids once too. And another thing: Old people don't like to be reminded that they're old, so stop "mevrouw"-ing me. I have my pride.

Falling Star

So, when your 4-year-old daughter climbs up on the debris on your balcony, 9 stories above the ground, and falls over the railing (MIRACULOUSLY surviving with no lasting injuries), maybe it's a good idea to clear the crap off the balcony. For appearance's sake. Especially when the whole neighborhood can see it.

I'm just saying.

'Cause, like, the neighbors might talk.

Anniversary

Sorry for the dearth of posts lately. Everyone in the house is sick and it's been tough to get any time to myself.

In other news, June 6th was my fifth year anniversary of moving to Amsterdam. Why does it feel like a hundred?

D told me that I was "sleeping like Jesus" in bed the other night. I told him it was because I've been suffering for 3 years. I am SO going to Hell.

Hopefully the kids will be well enough for daycare on Wednesday and I'll be able to get some posting done.

It's a wash; and I'm dumb

What is it with the cleanliness problem here?

D was all jazzed about borrowing our neighbor's power washer to wash the patio stones. They're rocky square paver tiles and, you know, OUTDOORS. Power washing them just makes them look rockier. And aren't rocks only, like, compressed dirt anyways? Are we cleaning dirt itself?

As a pleasant side effect, dirty water splattered all over my nice, blooming yellow roses, our back door, exterior walls and even splashed IN the back door a little. That's ok though, because now that he "has the hang of it" he is going to do it again tomorrow. We're going to have the cleanest dirt in town. The Dutch are so fucking irritating.

But I will say this: They know how to count. Even when those cute little youngsters smash their piggybanks to buy pre-rolled joints from me with all 5-cent coins, their counting is impeccable. I have not (yet) ever gotten wrong exact change. Kind of spiffy, considering how many people inadvertently (or purposely) stiffed me when I worked at my dad's store (for more years than I'd like to remember). (Do I use a lot of parentheses, or what?)

It's so typical that WE can get things dirty by trying to clean. It's just like us. A few weeks ago, we were CONVINCED our oven was broken. Everything was undercooked all the time. We fretted and fretted about finding the money to replace it, fought about where to cut corners, etc. and then we figured it out: The 3-dollar plastic kitchen timer we use was running fast. When we set it for 15 minutes, it would go off after 10 or so. Typical. If we hadn't figured it out, we would have bought a new oven and kept using the same stupid timer. I guess the new oven would have been "broken" too.

I did it again this week. I splashed out for a video camera. Using it, I was bummed to see that one half of the display screen was blurry. I thought it was busted, but figured that the video would be sure to come out ok regardless. The video was blurry too. I took the camera back, ready to read them the riot act and go ballistic. I knew they wouldn't be able to get me a new one (it was the last in stock when I bought it) and I was feeling preemptively screwed knowing they'd try to upsell me. You know what they did? Cleaned the lens. Yeah. Problem solved. I'm a fucking moron.

A Toot Tat

My son just asked me why I have a toot tat on my arm. I can't correct him. It's too frigging cute.