The Nervous Waiter

The Nervous Waiter. Copyrighted Material.
It was Monday morning, and my partner was off to a business meeting on the other side of Holland. Facing the prospect of being home alone, I decided to head to the Red Light District for a beer and a cigar. I eventually wound up at the Greenhouse on Warmoestraat.

I like the Greenhouse because you can drink for cheap and also smoke inside. I ordered my first beer and was approached by a waiter who stumbled side-to-side and spilled some of my beer on the table. Realizing that it was 10am on a Monday, I figured the young waiter was new on the job. 

"First day, huh? You look a bit nervous, but you're doing alright," I said trying to help him relax a bit.
"I'm not first day on the job," he said before wiping whiskey-like sweat from his forehead. "I came straight from a Friday night booze," he said with a Korean level of pride. 

Realizing that only a select number of individuals in Amsterdam were capable of such a casual test of resilience, I rang my good friend the artist "KC." Without a doubt, they knew each other, and KC decided to join us. 

Fully knowing that KC coming to the center would only result in either an artistic or drunken epiphany, I commissioned a painting for 2,000 euros. I still haven't paid, and KC hasn't delivered. He did, however, take a picture of the work he has done so far. 

I am sure that he will finish today or tomorrow. I am currently at his studio, and since we're snowed in here in Amsterdam, he has nothing but free time. How I wound up at his studio after drinking and smoking at the Greenhouse is a matter of drunken contention and of such a voluminous number of incidents, that there simply isn't enough time in the world for me to recount so many drunken steps, so many stumbles on the wrong tram(s?), and so many vicious afternoon words from old ladies. There simply isn't enough time.