My Parachute

Chapter XVI

It was Sunday morning, and the high season in Amsterdam had just begun. Despite it being only nine o'clock, Dam Square was already packed with tourists. There was no way around it. To get home, I had to walk right through the middle. First Dam Square, then Rembrandtplein, then Amstelveen. It was a slog.  

And what a state I was in. The hour-long walk through the bustle of summer visitors did nothing to clear my head. I was a wreck. 

The stairs up to The Attic nearly killed me. My phone battery had died hours before, so I was sure Chevy would be worried, having been unable to get ahold of me. One part of me hoped he was still home so he knew I was alright. The other part hoped he wasn't so he didn't see me like that and so I wouldn't have to explain. 

I turned the knob. "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to ring ya." So much for avoiding the explanation. I walked in and turned to close the door behind me. 

"Mate, I must have rang ya about... what the fuck happened to you? Are you alright, Man?" 

I stood for a moment, still drunk, with an unrelenting Viagra-induced erection and a shit stain on the back of my jeans, thanks to not owning underwear in those days. Chevy's questions danced around me like the sound of boat motors underwater as I stood drowning in embarrassment and the effects of the previous night. 

I managed to raise my hand and cut him off, "Bro, I'm fucked. I'll explain later, okay? Just go promote without me and I'll catch up with you this afternoon." 

I stumbled to my mattress, plugged in my phone, and drank some water before lying down. "You'd better go, though. Who knows how many times I'll need to jerk off before this thing goes away. Once it's gone, I'll give you a call." 

Chevy grabbed his stuff and walked to the door, cracking up. "Good luck with that thing, Mate. Don't hurt yourself." 

Look, my mother's reading this, so I won't get into the details of my de-erection process, nor will I explain my state at that moment. I will share that when I told Chevy the story later on, he laughed hysterically and almost didn't believe me. 

Showered and hydrated with fresh clothes and a flaccid, battered penis, I was back in action promoting with Chevy. By then, we'd been bumped up to Managers. We still walked the streets during the day, but sometimes, we had trainees with us. We also got paid a base salary for six night shifts per week to lead the team and ensure things went smoothly at each bar. 

It was a pretty sweet gig. Nir even gave us a set day off each week, which we took together. We'd hang out and try to stay sober, but beers on a patio somewhere were usually inevitable. We'd also end up on the Pub Crawl most nights anyway, drinking for free and looking for women. 

We were inseparable in those days. It was fun. However, on that hungover Sunday afternoon, change was in the air. 

"Mate, remember that chick I met the other night? The Dutch one. We're planning on meeting up. There's a bit of a problem, though." Chevy went on to explain something we all experience from time to time: meeting someone on a night out and not remembering what they look like. 

"She's Dutch, so she's probably as cute as I remember. I just want to make sure. I also don't remember her name, and we've been texting each other for too long to ask now." 

Chev met this mystery woman at a bar we went to once in a while. It wasn't a regular spot on the pub crawl route, and it was usually the second last place, meaning we were pretty wasted by the time we got there. Also, we made zero effort to learn Dutch. So, we referred to the bar after its initials: JV. Well, having forgotten his new crush's name, Chevy saved her in his phone as JV. And that's what we knew her as. 

"Didn't you meet a girl the other day? Maybe we can help each other out." He was right. I'd met a Hungarian lass named Celia while promoting just before the pub crawl started a few days earlier. I was pretty blitzed by then, so despite having her name and number, I couldn't remember if I found Celia attractive or not. 

On my first night out with the pub crawl, I devised a pregame ritual to get me buzzed on a tight budget before the party. I'd buy a bottle of water, a can of alcoholised energy drink and a small bottle of Jagermeister. Then, I'd knock back the water and mix the other two drinks into the empty bottle. It was a potent mixture, especially after Happy Hour. 

On the day I met Celia, I had doubled the dose. So, aside from remembering she was Hungarian and lived in Amsterdam, not as a tourist, the rest was a blur. Chevy's dilemma was the perfect chance to meet up with Celia and see if there was a spark. 

The plan was simple: we'd go to the same bar at the same time. Chev would meet JV, and I'd meet Celia. We'd sit in different parts of the patio, me furthest away from the toilets, so I'd have to pass Chevy on my way there. He'd see me stroll by, excuse himself and follow shortly after so we could convene in the loo. In there, we'd give each other a quick update to see if either of us needed bailing out. Possibly not the most mature plan, but a plan all the same. 

And that's what we did. I sat with Celia for a while. She was cool, but the spark wasn't there. We had a few beers, and I told her about Chevy's situation before excusing myself to use the toilet. I walked past the table where Chevy and JV were sitting, let out a "Pffrrrrrp!" and continued to the loo. 

Chevy wasn't far behind. "You're a dickhead!" He walked in laughing. "She asked why some strange guy made a noise at us, so I told her we're friends." 

Things were going well for Chev, but he still didn't know her name. So, we devised a second part of the plan. "Hi! I'm Mike. Sorry about the noise before. I was just messing with this guy. What's your name?"

The noisy streets went dead silent. Nothing could be heard except for the creaking of Chev's chair as he leaned in slowly to listen. "Wendy. Nice to meet you." Success! 

"And how's your date going, Mike? Do you need to be rescued?" Chevy and his secrets again. "It's nice actually. We're just going to be friends, but she's cool!" I turned to walk back to Celia. "Nice to meet you, Weeennndyyy." I looked at Chev to make sure he had it. "I'm sure I'll see you again."

Chevy and Wendy began seeing more of each other. Instead of us bringing girls home together, Chev would go home alone, and I'd fly solo on that front. On the nights that Wendy would stay over, I wouldn't bring anyone home. Chevy would still go for his stealth feed while Wendy was there, but he walked her down himself in the morning, meaning he was really into her. 

Then, one day, Chevy dropped a bomb. "Mate, Wendy's off from Uni on Tuesdays. I'm going to ask Nir if I can swap my Wednesdays for Tuesdays so I can hang with her." 

Part of me was bummed, but Wendy was great, and they were good together. So, more than anything, I was happy for him. 

The new situation did throw me off a bit, though. Suddenly, Tuesdays were spent promoting alone, Wednesdays I was off alone, and I was without a wingman. Anna and I barely spoke due to my immaturity. Jimmy was promoted and spent his days in the office. He also began dating a Russian lass who led him on a neverending emotional rollercoaster. And with Chev getting closer to Wendy, he was pulling away. Also, it wasn't long before I was heading back to Canada for my sister's wedding. I'd be gone for a month, and when I'd return to Amsterdam, Chev would already be back in Australia. It felt like people were dropping out of my life like flies. 

These thoughts raced through my mind on that first Tuesday alone. I couldn't focus. I tried talking to tourists, but without someone to feed off of, I'd give up halfway through. I felt empty. 

Defeated, I wandered into St. Christopher's for a few drinks. Alan and I chatted for a while. He asked where Chevy was and gave me a hug when I told him he'd swapped his day off. We had a shot, then I found a table to sip the afternoon away and people watch.

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

"Promoting without you is like skydiving without a parachute." I sent the text in jest, but there was clearly more to it. I lacked self-awareness in those days, so I didn't realise how unhealthy my situation was. Living in a city, drinking way too much and eating poorly every day, feeling lost, empty and lonely. But I didn't know it at the time. All I knew was that something didn't feel right, and, like most emotionally stunted males, I tried to mask my cry for help. Some do so with aggression or machismo. I chose humour. 

Unaware of my inner struggles, Chevy got a kick out of the message. Only, he didn't tell me, Jimmy did. 

A few days later, I was on my way out of the office while Chevy was still writing up his cards. Jimmy seized the moment once again, "Don't forget your parachute!" The office erupted. The timing and delivery were pure gold. I was even in stitches. I looked at Chevy and shook my head, laughing. "First the dog, now this? I can't tell you anything." 

Laughing felt good and helped me ignore the unknown turmoil that was unsettling me. Everyone else was oblivious and just enjoyed the banter. We walked out laughing and carried on as we always did. 

Just another bloke sweeping his inner struggles under the rug. It's tough to ask for help when you don't know you need it.