This might be the most horribly offensive thing I have ever done in my life.
This might be the ONE defining action in my life that will send me directly to Hell, because surely I will not be allowed past the pearly gates with this on my shoulders.
Two years ago, I studied abroad in England for the summer. On one of my long weekends, a few friends and I decided to hop over to Holland and become acquainted with the infamous Amsterdam.
Live sex shows, posing with giant penises and smoking pot doesn’t even begin to describe my weekend.
I am not a pot smoker. I hate pot. HATE. And as a general rule, I frown upon it. Mostly because for some reason I can’t seem to handle ANYTHING with THC in it.
So the morning we arrived in the city, we discovered it was Gay Pride weekend and there would be a parade on the canals. We participated in a very informative, interesting walking tour that fortunately led us directly into the heat of the action. GAY MEN EVERYWHERE! Pink hats, feather boas, loud techno music. The whole city had turned out for the occasion. People were dancing on the roofs of their houseboats, and it didn’t take long for us to get in the spirit.
When the parade was over, we were exhilarated. Man, what a city! So we did what anybody would do in Amsterdam…we tracked down some spacecakes at a cafe called Dampkring.
Everything was fine. In fact, the cakes were delicious, and I didn’t feel the least bit overwhelmed by highness. So a few of us split up and decided to meet at the Anne Frank House later, because I was dying to try some of the most famous curry fries in the city.
Shortly after I consumed said fries, the THC hit me like freight train.
I remember following two of my girlfriends around the city, boiling hot underneath the sun, while trying to read a map to figure out where we were. We passed canal after canal after canal, and everything looked exactly the same. I was FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.
When we finally found the line-up (which felt like two years later, but turned out to be 15 minutes), we were forced to wait outside for an eternity. I spied a guy ahead of me who looked incredibly like my friend Pearson. Is that Pearson? That can’t be Pearson. What’s Pearson doing in Amsterdam? That must be Pearson. Should I say hi? Is that Pearson?
Never mind I was probably staring at the poor guy with drool dripping from my chin and my mouth hanging open and my armpits sweating.
Once I got inside and somehow paid the fee, I had to sit down. My body was made of lead. The girls sat with me but they were clearly impatient. I stood several times, trying to collect myself. And then it hit me. The curry fries had sought their revenge.
I lurched into the bathroom, dove past a Dutch woman (she screamed at me until she was blue in the face), then pushed some poor girl out of the stall, and emptied the contents of my stomach within two minutes. Let me remind you: CURRY FRIES.
I have never felt more terrible in my life. I stumbled through the rest of the house in a haze, and managed to get back out on the street. Somehow, I sobered up enough to find my way home, and met the other girls of my party already passed out in their beds. And then I curled up in my bed, at 9 p.m., and fell asleep until 7 a.m. the next day, while all the gay men and women and supporters danced in the streets and celebrated the weekend, which I was told later was a truly magnificent occasion.
I went back to pay my respects to Anne Frank the next morning, and pretty much cried my way through the house. When I was a little girl, I had an unhealthy fascination with the holocaust and devoured books on the subject. I thought the house was well put together and pulled all the right heart strings, even if I did have to hide my face at the toll booth for shame.
And needless to say, I will never, ever touch anything with THC again.