On Saturday, my adopted son and I visited Amsterdam. Locals and tourists from all over the world packed the city. I love Amsterdam, the European city that cloaks me in a warm atmosphere of friendship, consideration, love, generosity, respect, and tolerance for others.
We strolled around the downtown streets and through alleyways lined with a myriad of clothing stores, ethnic restaurants, hostels, coffee shops, and souvenir markets. Mr. For Sure had the energy to spare for new adventures and more hours of the same. But the heat tired me out and dampened my enthusiasm to continue.
So I said to Mr. For Sure, “I want to go back to the hotel. You can stay and hang out.” He responded with, “For Sure? You wanna do that, for sure?” He annoyed me by sounding skeptical of my choice
So I emphasized to him, “Yes! I wanna go back to the hotel.” He sounded off with another, “For Sure!” He could have given me a simple YES, OK, etc., but…
AAAHHHHH!!!!
FOR SURE is his response to just about any question I ask him when a simple YES, OK, or a NO PROBLEM would do. FOR SURE is his pet answer; it’s my pet peeve. It drives me crazy when he says it, and I think he knows that.
Seemingly anxious to get rid of me, he escorted me to the escalator leading down to the platform where commuters and tourists take trains going to all parts of Amsterdam and beyond. He hustled me over to a lift to the right side of the platform. He told me to take the lift up and catch Train 51 to get back to the hotel. Then he waved goodbye and left in a flash.
Well! I felt like a senior citizen who’d been rushed across the street by an overly ambitious boy scout when all I was doing was just standing on the corner waiting for my damn bus to come.
Undeterred, I pressed the button to open the doors of the lift. After I got in, I pressed number one for the second floor. In Europe, the second floor is number one. In America, the second floor is number two. In Europe, the ground floor, called the Erdgeschoss, is zero. In America, zero is the first floor or ground floor. Confusing ain’t it.
When the lift reached the next floor up, I stepped out and found myself gawking at the hustle, bustle, and stifling heat of the downtown area from which I was trying to escape! DAMN IT! Mr. For Sure struck again! Too bad he wasn’t around for a military-style ass chewing!
So I got back into the lift, pressed “0” to get back to the floor beneath me. Stepping out of the lift, I looked ahead of me and saw a train on the tracks. As its engine purred, I hobbled over to get a better look at the header sign on its last car. It read “Train 51 Amsterdam Centraal” leaving in one minute.
Now I felt more relieved. Thank Goodness I got there in time to catch my train, even though Mr. For Sure sent me on a worthless wild-goose detour! Divine intervention definitely intervened.