| |
|
7 months of constant boozing behind me, in Amsterdam. 7 months of daily drinking and partying all night in A'dam's various gay bars and clubs.
It had to end.
Along the end of that period I had something going, a shit-script, a film school student agreed to co-direct, some actors in place, producer, camera man, all we needed was funding.
A contributing reason was that I was working in Restaurant and it was a hell place to work in, one night the owner hit me with his fist on my upper body part, you have to know that he was a man in his 60's, never went out and had managaed to stash millions upon millions of Guilders of the Restaurant. A hit and I exploded, all my manners went out of the way and I screamed at the fucker and told him that I quit!
And off I went.
No money income, I had lucked out with the restaurant, I didn't speak any Dutch...Okay, I can manage, I still have some money left.
I decided to try and get the funding and thus began 2 months of misery. The money ran out quick enough, I had no phone so I used up cards like I smoked cigarettes. I tracked a person down in America (which took me 3 weeks) and started trying to negotiate - fell through.
For the life of me I can't remember how I managed through the last month, I drank coffee with added sugar only, no other intake.
No money, my passport invalid, no help from friends, I had either exhausted their funds to the reasonable level or they had none.
What to do, what to do?
Eviction from my flat neared, I couldn't escape, I was destined to become a bum and this was after fall and some days before the real winter became, I was fucked.
"Mother, I need money."
"I will send you some, enough to get a bus ticket to Denmark". She replied.
It never came.
2 days before eviction, I promised myself either I commit suicide or blackmail my former employer. Guess which I chose?
It was hard but I threatened him, I threatened to blow the whistle on all the illegally workers there was in the restaurant.
Luckily, he took me seriously.
On the Germany-Netherlands border the controller looked at me with a knowing smile and with kindness in his eyes let me through with no words.
On the Danish the controller bitched but couldn't leave me out because I was Danish.
Thin, fucked-up mentally, exhausted, I recovered over 7 months at me mum's. |
|
|
