Throwing Baseballs
Chapter XI
Jimmy showed me the ropes. We went all around the city so I could see how and where to promote. We also walked through the Red Light District, where he explained the rules of the neighbourhood.
"These ladies pay rent for their rooms and take their jobs pretty seriously, so it's good to not get them angry. They have bells they can ring if there's any trouble, and some bad dudes come to help them out. The biggest thing to remember is to never take photos. They'll lose their shit and come after you. It's pretty nasty actually. They keep water bottles full of piss by the door to soak tourists taking photos with."
Jimmy's way of describing things was unique. His choice of words conveyed the earnestness of his message, while his laid-back voice and innocent laughter delivered a tone of "But it's cool. Just don't fuck around." We visited a coffee shop as well. Jimmy hadn't been in town long but already had his favourite weed, "Cheese, Man! Cheese is the good stuff. "I chuckled and thought of Pete.
It was late afternoon by then, and we had to be at Sporties for seven o'clock. So, we decided to grab a few drinks. It turned out that the rules around daytime intoxication were only loosely followed. It was all good as long as promotions got done and nobody turned up a mess to the pub crawl.
We wandered into St. Christopher's at the Winston on Warmoesstraat, a backpacker's with a bar and patio downstairs and a nightclub next door. The bar's two-for-one happy hour conveniently fit the window between promoting and the start of the pub crawl. Dinner time, I guess you could call it.
The place was awesome. They'd offer free stays for people with painting skills, so the walls were slathered with all sorts of funky murals. The L-shaped bar was staffed by Limbo Legionnaires, who were cool, but not too cool for school - much better than the Irish Pub staff. The music was always excellent. Rock, indie, hip-hop-they had it all. It was a great spot, and somewhere I'd get to know well, especially at Happy Hour.
We grabbed some beers and sat down at one of the booths. The place was heaving, so my eyes scanned back and forth like a typewriter while we chatted. Goths, jocks, skaters, punks, Germans, Yanks, Aussies... the list goes on. Despite all the stimuli, I managed to stick with the conversation.
Until now, I've been pretty descriptive of people I write about. With Jimmy, however, I won't go into details about his story. He's already done that in his film, Chasing the Present. I definitely recommend checking it out.
We got to chatting about accommodation. Jimmy and two other pub crawlers, Ruari and Lucy, were staying a little out of town where an older German woman named Ursula rented out beds for fifty euros per week, which was crazy cheap. The problem, aside from the location, was that Ursula ran a ridiculously tight ship.
"There are only four beds, and they're all in the same room. And she won't give out keys, so you have to ring the bell for her to let you in, which sucks when we finish work so late."
Jimmy sipped his beer and watched a group of Danish gals walk in. "And you can't bring chicks back. It sucks. Ruari and Lucy are a couple, and she's kicking them out because she came in - which is messed up on its own - and saw them asleep in bed together. She started going off about it not being a brothel and told them to find somewhere else to stay."
Eyes still on the Danish gals, he sipped his beer longingly. "I've gotta get out of there, Man. Fuck!"
That didn't sound like my kind of setup. I was on the hunt for a place, not a babysitter. "It's my round," I said, hopping up and going to the bar to get more beers.
The guy serving me seemed nice enough, so I asked him about long-term stays at the hostel. "You'll have to speak to Allen about that. He's the manager. But he's gone home for the day, so pop back before half past four tomorrow. That's usually when he knocks off.
I told Jimmy, and we agreed to meet the next day and speak to Allen together. Then, we downed our beers and headed off to the pub crawl.
It was a cold, rainy night, but I was too boozed and ready to party to mind. The rest of the team turned up when we did.
Ruari was from South Africa. He introduced himself straight away and was a really nice guy. Zero attitude. Zero chip. Lucy, Ruari's partner, was from England, and so was her friend Cara. They were both lovely right off the bat. After those intros, I walked up to Frankie and Jenny to try and break the ice again.
Frankie stared straight ahead while he mumbled to me," You didn't introduce yourself yesterday. Not a good look, Bro." I wasn't expecting that. Besides, I'd tried, but their little wall of coolness was impenetrable. "Yeah, New Guy!" Jenny pipped in, scanning and also avoiding eye contact. "Not cool."
I'm not sure what they were expecting, but I wasn't about to throw out apologies. I knew how it went down and was buzzed enough to bite back confidently, "Whatever! That's bullshit!" I made sure to laugh while I spoke to keep things light. "There were five of you and only one of me. Nobody else had a problem introducing themselves. What kind of
fucking welcome was that?"
I kept laughing and waited to see what they'd do. Frankie held fast, looking more like a bouncer than a pub crawl guide. Jenny, on the other hand, turned and met my smile with one of her own.
Grinning, I continued, "You guys should've said hi to me, but here I am saying it now. So, are we going to have a good time tonight or what? Enough of this nonsense."
Jenny was laughing with me now and gave me a fist pound. Frankie gave in reluctantly with a pound and a nod. The air had been cleared, and I felt much better.
They both suddenly looked over my shoulder. I turned to see Nir and Steven approaching. Steven had a backpack on with bottles in the side pockets. They were reused soda bottles filled with a light red liquid and plastic pour spouts. They each carried two five-litre plastic jerry cans filled with pure vodka.
Steven dropped the containers on the ground, then stepped in to give each of us the classic Amsterdam handshake: slap, slide, pat your heart. Then, he pulled out a book he'd been carrying under his arm and two rolls of wristbands, each a different colour. Nir followed suit, dishing out handshakes before going straight onto his phone.
Ruairi and Lucy took the red liquid inside. It turned out to be a mix of cheap vodka and fruit juice. When people turned up and showed their cards, they got a wristband. If the group was small, it stayed together with one colour. If it was big, it would be split into two groups each with different colour wristbands. The guests would then get a drink token at each of the five bars to get their first drink - a small beer, wine or soft drink. The bouncers handed those out. Then, they'd walk inside and have as much red liquid poured directly into their mouths as they wanted.
Steven slapped a wristband on me and told me to go inside and mingle. "Have a go at pouring shots if you like. And have fun!"
After guzzling down some free shots, courtesy of Ruari and Lucy, I went to the bar and got my tiny beer, which lasted all of three gulps. Rather than ordering something else, I decided to pace myself until the next bar. Just then, Jimmy appeared. "I'm not working tonight, Man. Not enough people turned up with my cards. But it's a small group with some cute girls, so I'll come party with you, alright?"
Eventually, the pub crawl moved across the street. "Make sure you shake hands with all the bouncers and bar staff at every place. And go say hello to the ladies collecting money outside the toilets. They'll get to know you, and showing respect will go a long way." Jimmy motioned for me to follow him. He introduced me to everyone I needed to shake hands with at each place. "This is Mike, our new guy. He's just partying tonight, but you'll see him a lot from now on." Jimmy, you're a legend!
After more shots and downing my little beer in one go, I ordered a Jack Daniels and Coke. I didn't have much cash on me, so when the bartender told me the price, I nearly cried. It was three euros for the Jack Daniels and eight euros for the little glass bottle of Coke. It was like this at most bars because they didn't have the soda gun. Lesson learned.
"Ha! Ha! Yeah, that happened to me, too, when I started. Stick to the beers and shots, for now, Man. Those handshakes will eventually lead to Jack and Cokes. And free toilet entry!" Jimmy patted me on the back and took off.
I slammed my eleven-euro Jack and Coke and got loose! Dancing through the place, I high-fived everyone in sight before busting out my patented erotic dance moves, consisting mainly of gyrating and humping the empty space all around me. Even when Summer of '69 by Bryan Adams played for the second time in twenty minutes, I grabbed ahold of the nothing in front of me, bent it over and pumped it like a wild dog. Goodnight Mike, hello Sauce!
On my way to the toilets at the back, a Moroccan guy dressed in a white sports coat and white hat whispered something to me as I passed him. "What's that Bro?"
I was keen to talk to anyone, and this guy looked cool. His dark, frizzy hair hung out from under his Sinatraesque hat, and his mulatto skin and half smile made him look like modern-day Michael Jackson.
He leaned in, "You want some coke? Ecstasy?" Jackpot! Mike would've said no, but now Sauce was on the scene and making all the decisions.
I raced to find Jimmy and ask if he was down. I found him at the back, by himself, with his hand holding an imaginary earphone, eyes closed and spinning an imaginary disc like a DJ. I hated dance and techno music, but Jimmy seemed to be really into it. This was the first - but not the last - time I'd seen him do this.
The beat began to build while Jimmy's right hand began to shake, hovering higher and higher over his imaginary turntable while the other held his imaginary headphone in place. It was as if the music was raising his arm in sync with the increasing beat. The pressure built up so much I thought the speakers were about to pop, and Jimmy along with them. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Jimmy's arm was jacked up like a car above his head. The beat plateaued, and Jimmy held it there, frozen in anticipation. I wasn't breathing. It was so intense my lungs were fully inflated.
Suddenly, it happened! The beat broke out, and Jimmy thrust his arm into outer space like he was throwing a baseball over the moon. It was wild! I let all my air out in a burst of laughter and ran up to him, "Jimmy, what the fuck are you doing, Man? Throwing baseballs?" He opened his eyes and laughed, left hand still holding the earphone, his right back on the turntable. He was in the zone.
"Hey, do you want to get some blow? There's a guy over there asking twenty-five euros for a gram." Jimmy stopped DJing so abruptly that I thought I heard his imaginary record scratch. We tossed in half each, and I went back to find Moroccan MJ.
A little while later, I didn't feel any different. Nothing happened. "Hey, Jimmy! Do you feel anything, Man? I don't feel shit." Jimmy put out his hand, asking for the baggy. He opened it and we both had a taste with our pinky fingers. "That's fucking sugar, Man! That guy ripped us off." I was pissed.
Jimmy rubbed some on his gums. "Hey, that guy wasn't Moroccan, was he?" I nodded, and he covered his face. "Dude, I should have asked before. Those guys sell sugar and Ex-lax as Coke to rip off tourists. At least it wasn't laundry soap. Some do that too, and that shit burns."
Like a total newbie, I sauntered up to Moroccan MJ, told him it wasn't cool he'd sold me sugar and demanded my money back. The friendly eyes and relaxed grin I'd first encountered suddenly changed. His whole face transformed. He looked menacing. "It's the best fucking coke you've ever had in your life."
It's easy for some people to make themselves look and sound scary, even if they aren't, so I tried to call his bluff. About to argue, he peacocked and stepped toward me as at least half a dozen of his friends magically appeared from nowhere behind him. MJ looked me dead in the eyes, very slowly and forcefully repeating," I said it's - the - best - fucking - coke - you've - ever - had - in - your - life."
Sauce may have been a mongrel, but he wasn't a fool. It was time to get out of there. I stepped back with a big smile, "Bro, I was messing around. That really is the best fucking coke I've ever had in my life. Thanks, Man! Have fun!" MJ nodded, his backup dispersed, and I dashed off quickly, just in time to see Jimmy throw another baseball.
Aside from spending half my cash on an overpriced drink and cocaine's version of alcohol-free beer, it was a fun night. I danced like a beast, made a hundred new friends I'd never see again, poured plenty of the red liquid, drank just as much of it, watched Jimmy throw endless baseballs, and sang along to horrible pop songs I'd never heard before that night. Everyone on the pub team was fun, and I seemed to fit in.
"You know how to have fun, Man. You can have a job. Come to the office tomorrow to get a T-shirt and some cards. Time to make some money." Nir patted my shoulder and went back to his phone.
By the fifth and final bar, Sauce was entering full mongrel mode. Feeling far too comfortable, I walked up behind Nir as a bartender handed him some bottles of Corona and playfully shouted, "Nir! Buy me a fucking beer!" I meant no harm, but he didn't know me or my humour.
"Fuck you, Man! You're just like everyone else. Nir, buy me a drink. You buy me a fucking beer!" He wasn't as angry as his words let on; he was more annoyed and whiny. As for me, I was just gutted he hadn't noticed my little rhyme: Nir and beer. Genius!
Half feeling bad, half not giving a shit, I shouted, "Fine, I will," and bought him a Corona. Surprised, he started laughing. "You're crazy, Man! Sorry. Everyone always asks me to buy them drinks." I popped my arm around his shoulder, laughing, "Nir, relax, Man. You're loaded, and I'm not. Why can't you buy me a beer you tight bastard?"
I had to reassure him I was joking after that as well, telling him he'd get my humour soon enough. We laughed it off and had a great night. He never did get my humour though, or anyone else's for that matter.
That mongrel Sauce had already gotten me in and out of trouble more times than I care to admit, and that was only the first night. I'd been in Amsterdam a little over a week at that stage, but I already felt at home. That was the beginning of both a wild time in my life and the end of my relationship with Anna.
Telling her about the night's activities the following day, I didn't get past Moroccan MJ. "Mike! Are you kidding? You're lucky enough to have a perfectly healthy body. Why would you want to mess it up by putting that shit into it? "
She was bang on. She could have said so many things that probably would have caused me to argue back, but not that. She made me see my actions in a different light. Taking my health for granted and consuming rubbish from people I don't know when others wished for good health was irresponsible and plain stupid. Embarrassed, I lowered my head and nodded.
"Mike, I don't want to tell you what to do, but I don't like cocaine or any other party drugs. And I don't want to be with someone who does them. Is this something you're into?" Seeing Anna genuinely worried was worse than seeing her angry. I felt awful, not because I'd told her, but because I'd done it in the first place.
"Look, Anna, I used to party a lot before I met you in Australia. For quite a few years, I did a lot of things I shouldn't have. But that was a long time ago. So no, it's not something I'm into. I haven't done coke in a very long time. I got caught up in the moment and made a bad decision. It was stupid. You're right, I don't need that shit."
She seemed happy enough with that. We were cool for the moment, but that was the first rumble of some shaky ground to come, and as I mentioned, the beginning of the end.
Later that day, I went to the office to get what I needed to start making money. Then, I made my way toward St. Christopher's to find a place to live and meet Allen.