Amsterdam ::: Day 3 ::: Shopping and Getting Stoned

Today I went to purchase a (clean) shirt and a jacket (because it's cold) at H&M. I considered also buying a pair of Chuck Taylors to wear with the skinny black jeans I purchased in the Philadelphia airport, in order to be allowed a first class seat. The Chuck Taylors combined with the skinny jeans might actually make me look like I "fit in" here in Europe. But I also don't want to be a poser. So it's a conundrum that I'm hoping one of my hipster friends will chime in and help solve for me.

And since that clean shirt will no longer be clean tomorrow, I struck out in search of a laundromat to wash the handful of clothes I brought to Europe, that I so cleverly figured out how to wash in a French laundromat in Paris. But haven't washed since Paris.

After much searching, I finally found a laundromat exactly one block away from my apartment, after I had already given up on trying to find a laundromat. So, tomorrow morning = laundry.

At 6:00 I met up with Diego to go out for drinks and dinner. Diego is from Argentina, so we decided to go to an Argentinian Steak House. He is very impassioned about how much he loves meat and how much he misses all the good Argentinian beef. The meal was good, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that we have better beef in America.

After dinner we went to a coffeeshop, ordered another beer, and purchased a joint. It's the first I'm smoking in Amsterdam, and the first he's smoking in 10 years, or something like that.

After maybe 1/3 of the joint, Diego left to get some air. A couple minutes later I heard the sound of a table flipping over on the pavement and had the vague notion that someone just face planted outside.

I turned and looked down the length of the coffeeshop, thinking, "Please don't be him, please don't be him."

And when the bouncer picked him up, I thought, "*sigh* It's him."

Being the girl that every once in a while gets in trouble, and has good friends to bring her out of it or look the other way, I collected myself and went to handle the situation, as they admirably would. (Which means I also did not forget to put the rest of the weed in my pocket on the way out.)

Diego was sitting on the curb, glass of sugar water already in hand from the bouncer, and looking bewildered. I asked him if he was ok and if he needed to go. He said in his awkward English, "That might be best."

I let the concerned bouncer know that I was responsible for him and went back in to grab our jackets. I've known him probably a grand total of 7 hours, spent with him over the course of 2 days. But what the heck. As I too consider my friends, I'm a nice, admirable sort and he's in a strange city, literally stoned to the point of passing out.

Ironically, this is exactly why I waited to go to a coffeeshop until I had made a friend here in Amsterdam. I totally thought that would be me.

I had "him" "walk me" across town back to my apartment, so that I wouldn't be alone, and then I put him on a tram back to his friend's house. I hope that wasn't rude. But c'mon, he needed the walk to sober up, anyway.