Thursday, September 11, 2008

Morrati, the Turkish cab driver in Amsterdam

Scene: A desolate street in Amsterdam, The Netherlands.
Time: 9:50 pm
Mission: Find an ATM, then get a cab to meet a fellow Texan at the Heineken Brewery.

And this is how it goes:

As we (Shannon, travel partner extroidanare and myself) depart from Hotel de Filosoof, we decide to cross the street, heading south, in search of an ATM. Slightly tired from the flight in from Barcelona, and the 30 minute gallavant through the same 2 streets because our taxi coudln't find our hotel, we trudged on, southward, looking, for the ATM.

Five doorstep pictures later, we see neon lights. SCORE. ATM. not.

Dejected, and staring that the closed bank, with NO ATM, a miracle woman descends from her home. "Are there any ATM's close by?"

"Schure, go doewn to trhe street crooss there, and it is doewn onn trhe right" (Phoenetic spelling of the lovely Dutch accent)

SCORE! for real.

Yes! Cash! Now taxi.

No taxi's. But there was a lovely gentleman observing our awkwardness, and offered to catch one for us. And he did.

The Culprit: Morrati, the Turkish cab driver in Amsterdam who loves Barack Obama. And barely knows English, but follows our politics quite well.

And the REAL story begins.

My right hand touches the door handle, and immediately the genial face whips back to greet us. I let Shannon in first, and followed by placing myself on the sticky pleather seat.

"Fora all mya clients, (imagine Borat)" and WTF. WHY IS THERE SPRAY ON ME?
Our Boratian friend apparently provides putrid flower smelling spray for all his clients. Why? Hand sanitizer perhaps? Maybe Dutch Febreeze for humans?

We still don't know. But he sprayed it on our hands, but his face. uh?

Next........ death candy. The spray wasn't enough for me to start imagining how my last day would be this one. Before I could even start planning my escape from the whore house he would surely store us in, he offered candy.

WHY WOULD I WANT YOUR CANDY... Morrati? You just sprayed me, I was obviously unaffected, and now GHB tootsie rolls? We are going to die.

As I try to deny my "prefential treatment", Shannon mans up and takes some to appease his incessant offerings of phreakish gifts. Now.... the car starts moving. Finally.

But before long, we are talking about his English lessons and how he likes Barack's policies over Hillary's.

We don't care by now. There was no chance of that after the spray. Especially not after the Death Candy.

And we arrive. At Museumsplein. NOT the Heineken Brewery. I damn near just played dead right then so he wouldn't even bother with me.

"Is this the Heineken Brewery?"
"No, but isa a nice place".
( I don't want a f'ing nice place, I want to get out of your car)
"Well, we need to go there because we are meeting someone there"
"But Heineken place closed"
(STFU and DRIVE)
"Can you please just take us"
"Okaya!!! Anything for my beautiful new ladies"

That was it. Homie was not only getting NO tip, but his own special voodoo doll when I got home.

But alas, we landed at the Jolly Green Beer place. With one last Death candy offering, but our souls and bodies intact.