Night of the Gold digger. A short story

So, hi, my name is Mieke. I’m aged 29 years, and share an apartment in the Maasstraat in Amsterdam with my friends Eva and Tineke. Today is Friday, and I am exhausted. Totally kaput. I’ve had such a hard working week. I work three and a half hours on Mondays, two hours on Tuesdays, four on Wednesday and three on Fridays. Life is so hard. I barely have time to go to bootcamp, meet my friends for coffee and have time for myself.

I work as a HR advisor for an accounting firm. It’s so stressful, people keep coming to me with their problems, and asking me for advice. What is it that they want from me? Why can’t they leave me alone? I went into HR because I love people, and everyone I know says that I’m a real people person, but hey, give me some space ok?  I am not superhuman. If this continues I’m gonna have a burn out!

I love Fridays. Tonight with Tineke and my friend Marieke we are having a girls evening. Marieke, is my best friend, I love her, but since she met her new man, an investment banker, she’s become a total bitch. It’s always Stefan bought me this, Stefan bought me that. He bought her a Louis Vuitton bag, and now she never misses a chance to put that bag in my face, I hate her, but I love her really.

So, we are going to the Palladium this evening. I need to dress up. I light up a cigarette, then I go into my closet. It’s such a difficult decision to decide what to wear. Which pair of  blue Jeans shall I put on? After a long time (30 seconds) I choose a pair of extra tight fitting skinny jeans. For a top, I find it’s better to just put on the first thing that I see. I’m not one of those stupid Expat girls that spend time co-ordinating clothes. Doe Maar Normaal! Who cares? Just throw anything on. I picked out a lovely bloes/blouse with a leopard skin print, classy. I have a pair of old suede boots that I should probably have replaced at the start of the Millenium, but hey, why waste money? I smoke another cigarette.

We eat at home and then I cycle to Leidseplein. Unbelievable! While cycling on the pavement, smoking and speaking on my smartphone with Marieke, someone swears at me in English and tells me to get off the pavement. “You’re stupid, you don’t even speak Dutch! Go back to your own country” I shout after him. They should forbid pedestrians from walking on pavements. It just gets in the way of the bikes, it dangerous!

Ok so before I tell you about Palladium, I just want to make something clear, I’m definitely not a Gold Digger ok? That’s not to say that I would have a problem with meeting a man with a lot of money. I’m an old fashioned girl and why shouldn’t a man look after a woman? I’m also a feminist. I love strong women such as Yolantha Cabau, Wesley Snijder’s wife. She shows how much simple girls like me can achieve, first she was with a second rate singer and poor actor, but then she bettered herself and got herself a footballer. Goed Zo!

So I meet Marieke at the bar in the Palladium. Of course she’s already there with her new best friend, Louis Vuitton. Tinneke and I join her at the bar. I go to give her three kisses and Marieke says “Oh sorry, my Louis bag got in the way there” I could  choke her. I smile at her instead, she smiles at me, I smile back everything is good. It’s nine PM, the bar is starting to get busy. We start looking around, discussing the men. Marieke says she won’t comment as she loves Stefan so can’t look at other men. The bitch.

I look over at the corner of the bar. An older man is standing there. He’s so old. Silver hair, like a Fox. He must be at least fifty. I would never date such an old man. Oh, I see that the barman has given him a bottle of champagne, Cristal!! Actually, I see he has a nice gold watch. A Rolex! I’m nervous, excited. I need to speak to him. I subtly get Tinneke’s attention by pointing at him and at the Champagne. He looks at us and raises a glass. We smile, giggle, smile, giggle again, he gestures for us to come over. We join him. He’s English, we introduce ourselves to him. He asks me if we’ve met before, I tell him that I would never forget such an attractive man. He looks at me again and says he’s sure we’ve met. Then it comes to him. Didn’t I just nearly run him over with my bike earlier in the evening? “You told me to go back to my own country. Well ladies, me and my Champagne are staying. Have a pleasant evening”

My role model

Stupid English men I hate them, and don’t even get me started about their women. How dare he speak to me like that? Who does he think he is? So we are back where we were, we light up more cigarettes and are smoking away, when I see a table of three young quite attractive guys. They have a bottle of Champagne on the table. We smile, giggle, smile, giggle and they invite us over. This time we at least are given some Champagne. I ask a quite attractive blonde Dutch guy a couple of friendly questions.

• What do you do for a living?
• Which neighborhood do you live in?
• What car do you drive?
• How old is the car?
• Do you own your own place?
• Where did you go for your last holiday?
• What brand watch is that?

Oh shit! He’s a Makelaar, not even a property developer, just a Gadverdamme let me show you round the house, how much money can I squeeze out of you Makelaar. Boring! Still at least he can buy us some drinks. “You ladies drink fast” he says as we finish our Champagne. “Can we have some more?” I ask, in a girly voice, fluttering my eyelashes at him. He orders another bottle, but then disaster! The machine refuses to accept his PIN payment. He turns redder than a communist and starts stuttering. He looks to his friends. They shrug their shoulders. We get up and walk away without saying goodbye, what a loser!!

Ambition is a good thing

So we are at the bar again, smoking and listening to the latest gifts that Stefan has bought for Marieke, the money grabbing bitch. I smile at her, she tells me how much she loves me, I tell her I love her too. Then, I see him, the man of my dreams. Tall, blonde proud hair, combed back like that of a Lion, he’s wearing red jeans, brown shoes, a sexy tweed jacket and a brown checked shirt. What a man. He’s with some friends. I go straight over to him and within a few minutes he’s ordered me a glass of champagne. He’s a Banker and he lives in Stadionweg, so he must have money. Not that I care about things like that. He drives a Porsche! A Porsche, that’s only two years old. Not that the car he drives is important. He’s single! Oh I’m getting wet.  I light up another cigarette. The barman gives him the bill and what’s he doing? He gives it to me. I giggle, smile, giggle, smile, but he just ignores this and he’s leaving. I have to pay for my own drink!! What a bastard. I knew he was no good. What a way to treat a lady. That’s it. He’s ruined my entire evening. I have to pay for my own drink. I start crying. I pay, I tell my friends. They are angry as well. I’m going home. My evening, weekend and actually my life is ruined!!!

No Golddiggers were hurt during the writing of this article.

Buy the Amsterdam Confessions of a Shallow Man from Amazon and just to prove that the shallow man is integrated into Dutch society it’s also available from BOL.com

The paperback