In uncertain times, most of us always have the comfort of their mind and often many experiences and memories to resort to. Human minds are genuine treasure troves and while often we may not have memories at the forefront of our thoughts, they provide many of us genuine, intimate moments of comfort.
The literary thing to do now would be to invite each one of you in my mind, before withdrawing the option because it’s a rather messy place there and there may be other thoughts not ready to publicized there. But too many a skilled author would resort to that rather known trope thus I will not. Instead, in even more traditional ways, you will have to rely on yours truly himself as the narrator of how I unexpectedly entered the hospitality sector.
After having left my home country, an unplanned thing in itself, I travelled France for almost a year. Much of those travels actually happened hitchhiking. It were different times and fear about weird types and characters weren’t as innate yet as they are nowadays. Although there probably were more weird types in those days than nowadays.
As unexpected as my French travels started they ended with me ending up in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Like many travelers, I initially ended up at famous The Flying Pig hostel. Doing what most backpacking Amsterdam tourists do: visiting museums, admiring the city’s intriguing scape and architecture, and enjoying local foods and drinks. Oh yeah, and drinking beer and smoking pot, of course. The latter two activities undoubtedly the most prominent ones during that time.
Not truly having any plans, I stayed some weeks at the Flying Pig until thanks to some truly genius social engineering I was offered the opportunity to share a house with 3 Finish students. Having heard how difficult it was to find reasonably priced accommodation in Amsterdam, I grabbed the opportunity, deciding on the spot that I could see myself stay for a full year in Amsterdam. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that they were female exchange students Erasmus’ing their early adulthood in Amsterdam. Oh no.
Unlike most Erasmus students they had decided to stay in town over the summer holidays. While they spoke fluent “Absolut”, they weren’t really bothered by learning Dutch and so I had the opportunity to fast track my English, which was then still rather weak. Or unpracticed.
After some weeks had passed, I got the typical Amsterdam tourist issue, at least typical for any traveler not sponsored by their family’s credit card and it became time I started looking for a job. To be honest, at that time I had absolutely no clue what I wanted to do in life or even right then. But I knew from my previous year traveling through France that I would be fine and find, and fund, my way.
So I did what most travelers in Amsterdam do when in need of a job and walked into some of the reputed temp agencies. Indeed, plenty of entry jobs, many even with immediate start but it all seemed rather boring options to me. Boring mostly because even though temp jobs, most required full-time and even a longer commitment. On the third day, I was on Damrak and the search had truly started to annoy me because none of the options offered so far struck me as something I cared about, irrelevantly of the offered revenues and even perks. Walking out of an agency, I decided that since I was nearby I would hop over to the Flying Pig for some beers and a joint.
It was the beginning of July and for the first in now almost two months in Amsterdam, I actually noticed the flurry of restaurants on Damrak. I never was too interested in the “typical tourist things” and I guess because of that I must have blanked them out all those times walking past. But for some weird reason, this time I noticed them. Particularly a small pizzeria, almost at the end of the collection. It was a small place, looking rather dark and food was prepared in the large window. Outside were some tables, with a male middle eastern waiter and overlooked by a guy in his thirties. He looked like your average wannabe mafioso, complete with the long ponytail up to half his back. Dark tan too, of course.
I didn’t think much about it because clearly I was on a mission: a cold Amstel at the Pig. Few minutes later that indeed was the center of my life, as well as rolling that spliff I was looking forward to since pretty much before I entered the first work agency some hours ago that day. Ever since leaving the hostel, time at the Pig always started with catching up with the regular staff and that day was no exception. The bartender, an experienced backpacker himself, asked me why I didn’t start with some time as a waiter or bartender. Because the summer holiday season had just started, many restaurants in the center would be in need of staff and most also paid daily. Which was of course an awesome thing because if you didn’t like it, you could just not return the next day and done and dusted. No problem with potential money issues.
I wasn’t worried about having a legal contract or any perks, the daily payment possibility and freedom was something which interested me. While I had never worked in the industry, there was something about the idea. Clearly, now that joint had hit me rather well by now but you’re only young once, right.
Off I went and within minutes I was back at that pizzeria and asked the ponytailed guy if the manager was in. I probably could have made a better entry than asking the owner for the manager but once that awkwardness out of the way, we were talking business. Holy noodles, he wanted me to start the next day!
This was slightly unexpected and I wasn’t fully sure I was that much in a rush either but I was truly enjoying the weather and the opportunity so I stupidly said “Sure.” That Northern Light - White Widow combo joint surely was good. Or maybe it was the owner’s convincing flair, after all he did just convince me to accept a job which meant I would be wearing black trousers and a white shirt... with a tie. I’m pretty sure it was the joint which did me in.
Now I obviously had things to take care of and had to find few white shirts, get them ironed, and even a tie. More so even, I had to come up with “skills”. Never having carried more than a plate from the kitchen counter to the dining table, the next day I was expected to serve people. On the main tourist avenue in Amsterdam.
With these now slightly urgent tasks at hand, I had to shoot in action and get productive. After all I had only around 24 hours to manage all that and not look like the next stoned idiot in Amsterdam. That could mean only one thing at that moment in time: back to the Flying Pig for more beers and another joint!
Because when you live in Amsterdam, that’s what you do as first-timer.
I don’t get easily stressed and it takes a lot to make me feel uncomfortable in life situations. I am generally confident even when the situation requires me to learn on the spot. Not being a klutz probably also helped me looking forward to this next experience and the next day, as belongs, I was at the job half an hour early. Dressed as expected, tie included. Milan, the owner, was expecting me and invited me for a staff meal before starting.
Sweet. That sounded like a good deal. I hadn’t even started yet and was already offered food. I can’t say I didn’t like the start so far. The next hours also went rather fine. While it was obvious I was lacking any experience, I didn’t spill any drinks or food. Better even, I seemed to have a little bit of talent and didn’t look like an idiot when carrying a tray with 5 drinks on!
After some hours of working, growing more confident in things and mastering that drinks tray always better, Milan called me over and ended my shift. It hadn’t been too busy an evening and there was enough staff to finish the shift. As he payed me out, he said he expected me back the next day and I would also have to work both weekend days.
That was rather unexpected, and also unplanned, but rarely one to make plans it worked for me. Besides, the money, while not urgent, was nice to be earned and would me help over the next months. Lastly, the day wasn’t a bad experience and I actually enjoyed it. There was something about Milan too, he had a special flair and seemed very appreciated by everyone working in the pizzeria.
So it seemed my nearby future was planned now. At least the next three days were. Time for a well-earned spliff and some beers.
The next few weeks passed rather quickly. I was starting to enjoy the gig. No, I wasn’t losing the plot or smoking too much, I was genuinely finding joy in those days serving customers. There was the buzz of busy days, when everyone performed multiple gears higher and reveled in it. Never go to a quiet restaurant, service and kitchen will be sloppy. The staff loves busy times. As a team we also huddled around those busy times and professional friendships formed.
And, of course, there was the business of tips. I had quickly become the highest tip earner. Thanks in no little to a boss specialized in treating customers who would most likely never return and thus were all seen as walking dollar bills. Or Dutch florint guilders at least. He taught us the tricks, I was the proverbial student who picked everything up and mastered the skill even further.
But by end August I started to become bored. For almost two months I had been serving pizza and pasta. Yes, we were an Italian restaurant and also served few other meals but other than Scalope Milanese I fail to remember any of those. Pizza and pasta. Pasta and pizza. Oh and “mozzarella cheese” the almost compulsory $1.5 upsell which was merely young Gouda, really young Gouda. But no one ever complained, except Milan when we didn’t upsell enough “mozzarella”.
During those two months Milan felt a strong need to introduce me to his family story and family. They were a Jewish family from Iraqi origin but now mostly located in Tel Aviv. All the restaurants and one hotel on Damrak starting at the beginning of the avenue up to the pizzeria belonged to them. They were not in touch with the rest of the Jewish community in Amsterdam, which was rather ironic since those operated at the other side of Damrak at the Diamonds Exchange.
Milan, of course, was the leading character in the family and every day some of his family members came over. When they did, they all were bosses and could commandeer anyone. And could man the till. No one else was ever allowed to handle money.
I wasn’t too interested in those family stories, or members, this was merely a temporary gig for me, a gig with nice tips. When Milan pulled me over one day because he had heard I liked sauna and was looking for recommendations, he told me to join him next week and go to the sauna they frequented. Instantly the distance between us unilaterally grew and so did my disdain for his efforts to introduce me to always more family members.
One day the inevitable ended and during a split shift I walked into the Argentinian steakhouse, asking if they wanted extra staff. Sure enough, I could start the next day at 4PM. With a 20% premium even. Or so I thought.
Being always on time, meaning at least 15 minutes early, I was raving to go and study another menu. Never did I look forward that much to steak and grilled potato with sour cream than that day. The marvels of getting paid daily without any further obligation, right.
Wrong.
Barely had I walked into the steakhouse, enter Milan. He wasn’t upset but seemed disappointed. Yet close to enough to upset and to forbid the restaurant from hiring me because I hadn’t asked him. And he wasn’t going to let me go, no I would start at 4.30PM at the pizzeria or nowhere.
Sigh
As he and I strolled to the pizzeria he explained me this was his empire and I was his discovery. If I wanted to make more money, he could provide me with more shift at his brother’s restaurant and would raise my wage with 20%. I even managed a new split for tips in which I had to share only 50% of my tips. He made sure to end the conversation with lMy shit is the best the “lord up there” will ever give you”.
I guess it was a “win”? Except that it was back to pizza and pasta. Pasta and pizza. Not to forget the “mozzarella”.
But Milan pulled another one that day. One which shocked everyone, the whole crew and even his wife: few minutes in my “rehired” shift, he called me over and told me to man the till. Which was pretty much the highest possible level of trust for anyone. Only his family ever had access to the money and never would anybody else to till. Not in the pizzeria, not in the other restaurants. But I suddenly was told to do it.
Ugh, no tips for me that day. I guess I did earn that.
Ever since I started working at the pizzeria it had become a habit of mine to go for few after-work beers at DIEP. on Nieuwezijds Voorburgwall. A trendy scene cafe on weekends and a quiet scene board games playing cafe during week. It was merely few minutes walking away, near the famous Abraxas coffeeshop, and the staff were cool.
On weekdays usually I would be out of work before 10PM, shortly after 11PM on weekends. Perfect for few chill beers and a nice toke before bed. Slowly but surely I had been bitten by the bug of serving people and one Saturday I arrived at DIEP. and the place was absolutely crowded. People were queuing to even get on the terrace. It had become an instinct to look at tables in places and all I saw was empty beer glasses all around the place. There must have been 200 or more that evening.
Without thinking twice, I grabbed those lovely Dutch “tulip” glasses and started stacking them one in another, like a pro. By the time I arrived at the door, I was starting my third tower, meaning I had probably 120 glasses collected already, leaning in two large piles against my shoulder, a third tower being built slower. N00b I was I had to hunch to get through the door at which point the inevitable happened.
Physics. Damn you gravity, thou art such a heartless bitch!
Yes, one tower had broken and collapsed over my shoulder while hunching down. Luckily the owner was nearby to take control of the second tower which was just as high. As if nothing had happened, he sent my ass and wary look to the bar ASAP and told me to deposit the glasses there! Obviously the place was staffed by n00bs because none of the bar crew batted an eye at all those glasses I had just broken or seemed upset.
No, au contraire.
Instead of getting angry looks one of both barmaids challenged me for an evening of free beers if I could rinse the glasses faster than she needed them. Now that was the type of lingo I understood. I didn’t care about the reward but showing her silly ass that I knew how to quickly rinse few beer glasses... challenge accepted! Things just went down the place’s lore and no one cared about the lost glasses. Not the owner either. I was now accepted in a second “hospitality family” and often invited to join them after work as they went clubbing.
My life at the pizzeria had changed. More and more often I would be asked to open the place and staff the till as well, until late in the afternoon when Milan’s wife usually arrived. It was obvious that for everyone one else I was now in a new position and had climbed whichever ladder. To me, it was still merely a waiting gig and I was selling pizza and pasta. Pasta and pizza, oh and “mozzarella”. I could now usually work as long as I wanted and often Milan’s sister-in-law called asking if I could help them out at their Dutch restaurant.
Which I was more than eager to do because I could keep all my tips there and my Rolodex had now expanded with “Schnitzel with pommes”. Good times.
By beginning October most of the summer staff had been thanked and we were only 4 in the waiting team anymore. Those selected to earn over the quiet period, until the Christmas holidays. It was made very clear to those not in the know - that was just me - that we were the ones to feel honored while not really needed logistically. In all truth, any of us could have run the joint on our own in during those days. We weren’t just waiters, we were used to the hectic of the holiday season and could all operate at very high level. We were the chosen ones, literally.
I like to say Milan didn’t change but he had definitely changed his approach towards me. After I almost left, he turned the caring brother, a person doing his utmost best to seem interested in what I wanted to do rather than who I all needed to know. While the change was obvious, and also the appreciation shown by his family members, to me this was still very much a daily paid gig, a gig with a nice amount of tips. I definitely wasn’t thinking about spending my first New Years Eve in Amsterdam selling pizzas until 3AM. Oh no, I wasn’t.
Yet, there were obvious efforts to integrate me more. Even his brother who did not really like me before - he always figured I wasn’t going to stay - started to show warmth. The most obvious expression of Milan’s esteem was when mid-September an uncle arrived, from Tel Aviv, who would lead us for two weeks so Milan and his wife could enjoy a vacation back home, in Tel Aviv. Even the uncle was told that when I was around there wasn’t any need for him to steer the ship, I could manage things. I was even already skilled in turning back the till’s clock, identifying empty tables, and adding false orders. Yes, the whole operation - every restaurant - was a vast money laundering operation. A daily task normally reserved to family members.
Obviously, we started off on the wrong foot. Of course, we did.
This “new hierarchy” created an immediate disdain from him for me. Which wasn’t bad because I didn’t feel him either and the lack of respect was mutual. Soon I would be vindicated as he sexually harassed both our weekend waitresses and they requested to transfer to another restaurant as long as he worked in the pizzeria. Needless to say that during the two weeks the boss was away, work happened with the proverbial knives drawn. Luckily, we had steak knives so any fight would be more interesting than with the typically blunt cutlery used for pizza and pasta. And “mozzarella”.
It helped that I spent a serious amount my time at the brother’s restaurant, selling schnitzels, pancakes, and waffles to elder ladies on a day trip to Amsterdam. Greedy buggers tipping only very little if even.
Towards the end of October Milan, and his wife, returned from their break and the size of his grin was way too big to not be concerned. Luckily, DIEP. was still an integral part of my working days and after few beers that evening I immediately had forgotten about that imaginary concern. It was probably that delicious Northern Light joint though, not the beers.
I had dropped my guard towards Milan by then. I had absolutely no idea what to do next or if I wanted to do anything else then. I was just coasting life and I had gotten used to his convivial chats, everything had become a simple routine. Simple as pizza and pasta.
When one Thursday evening I closed the joint little after 10PM, only Milan and the uncle were left over. This was unusual as Milan liked to be home early with his wife, but I just thought it was because next week the uncle would return to Tel Aviv. Even when Milan asked for his bottle, the Dimple 15 years one which was reserved only for him in all the restaurants, I didn’t really think much about it. Truth is I was way to busy looking forward to a party at Escape, a popular club I would normally not frequent but who had finally landed a decent DJ for that night.
Normally when Milan was still around at closing time, something had happened in the business and he would be rather agitated. Not that Thursday, he was relaxed and enjoying his horrible Dimple. As I was preparing the last tables and dressing them up for the next morning, a beauty entered the restaurant and joined Milan’s table. When I say “beauty” I truly mean beauty. Anyone who has ever seen the hottest ladies from Tel Aviv knows the type of woman I am talking. She surely would give the Kardashians a run for their money. Well, maybe not money but looks definitely.
Something was up. I had never seen her, this never happened and she just joined Milan’s table like that. Literally just like that. It certainly made me frown my eyebrow but I was too focused on going to Escape later. She must have been family.
“Mayhem, come over,” a bossy voice trying to sound nice I knew all too well said loudly. Off I strolled and did what I supposed was expected of me, asked the lady if she wanted a drink. I was hoping this wouldn’t take long and I wouldn’t have to serve them for hours. I had different plans that night.
So did Milan, who ordered me in his boss of the family tone to sit down. Sit down I did, at the only empty chair at the table, next to her.
“Mayhem, you have now been with us for a while and we like your style. You work hard, you understand the business, and you never complain,” the boss started.
“It’s now time for you to join the family and we’ve gone ahead and found you a woman. Meet...”
gasp
I don’t think I’ve ever had a panic attack but as Milan was rambling on, that moment was closest I ever came to one. Barely able to understand him as I was thinking of getting out of that situation, I picked up words like “we have space for both of you to live” and other craziness like that. I also picked up she had just flown in from Tel Aviv that day. True, she was absolutely gorgeous and definitely multiple leagues above my “class” but holy shit, that wasn’t why I was in Amsterdam!
Funnily enough, all I could utter was that I was expected at a private party that night. As close to the truth as a club evening for 2,000 people gets.
My head was whirring now and I could probably have killed someone, not with steak knives, to grab and finish that bottle of Dimple, no matter how horrible a whiskey it was! It didn’t even dawn on me Milan may just have pulled a joke on me. I was way too convinced of the importance of family to him. After all he shown me for months he had plans for me in his imperium and imperium meant to him not only money but first and foremost family.
I am not sure anymore how I talked my way out of things that evening, but I made it out of the pizzeria around half an hour later. Straight to DIEP.! I wasn’t having beers that night, oh no. I immediately ordered their Bloody Mary, the only cocktail they did but boy was it bloody awesome! Of course that order led to the crew asking if something was wrong and tell them the story I did.
Thanks to an awesome dose of wodka, with a solid punch of brandy, in my Bloody Mary I even didn’t care if I ended up the day’s fool and they all were laughing at me. I was still in genuine shock, realizing that when taking my daily wage and walking out I had effectively resigned on the spot that evening.
But this was DIEP. You didn’t have to be crazy to frequent the place but it definitely gave you an asset. And who had been listening in on the story? The owner, while playing his weekly game of RISK with his former class mates. Of course he had.
“Hey, why don’t you start working here tomorrow. We’re actually fine in staff but I think you will fit in and prove an asset to the bar,” he shouted from his table. The only table in the bar.
I turned my head and looked at him and just nodded. “6PM for evening shift,” I asked. He nodded back.
The next day, Friday, I showed up as agreed and started pouring beers for trendy Amsterdammers. I had been fully bitten by the bug and would work in hospitality for the next decade.
Thanks to the popularity of DIEP. within months I had entered the club scene and was offered the opportunity to work seasons in clubs in the Mediterranean and London in winter. Over the next seven years I would regularly return to Amsterdam for the winter season and to relive the good old days in DIEP. My last gig in Amsterdam would be the largest techno party for Millenium, after which life took me to Germany where I entered the cocktail scene.
Luckily I haven’t worked for many shit bosses, so I guess Milan’s shit was indeed the best the “lord up there” would ever give me.
Photo credit: all photos via Unsplash
Nice story and the pizzas looks delicious!!
What a fascinating and strange story - I enjoyed reading it
Thanks, glad you enjoyed it!
A short novel with breakfast! Thanks for the entertainment.
@tipu curate
Upvoted 👌 (Mana: 0/6)
Thanks, hope it made your breakfast extra enjoyable today. :)
Do you know what happened to the Tel Aviv beauty? :D
Hah! Someone knows the type of woman I'm talking about. No idea tbh, I didn't need to be on Damrak in day-to-day life so I avoided that avenue for quite some time.
Besides, I now worked in a hotspot location, behind the bar. :D