208 days ago
208 days ago
A menu covered front and back with every type of marijuana available was passed to us. Now this was not the regular menu of burger and fries. No fish and chips. Only the most original and exotic species of scientifically grown POT!!! We couldn't believe it! As a teenager from the backyard of Woodstock, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. We studied the choices diligently while sipping an ice cold Amstel.
Paranoid, a little. I mean, in my home country, smoking weed is illegal. However, my nerves calmed when we looked over at the next table only to see everyone else getting high. Hey, when in the Dam…
I had become very comfortable there. Apart from the weed, I absolutely loved the distinct 4-5 story red brick buildings, cobble stone one-lane streets, long canals, quaint bridges, parks with blooming tulips, world class museums and the cordiality of the Dutch. The Rijks Museum is still my favorite in the world. The Dim Sum and Peking Duck is mouth watering! And, of course, I couldn't forget my absolute favorite, the Green House Coffee Shop. What's not to like?
It was a gorgeous Spring morning in 1998, the kind of day that suitably fits the city of Amsterdam. I'll give you the cliché of tulips blooming, people riding bikes and the shopkeepers opening their businesses for the day. I was strolling around the canals, enjoying the scent of flowers and freshly baked bread venting from the small cafes while my husband was still sound asleep. So being a good roomie, I took full advantage of the Greenhouse just a couple doors down. I always sat outside at the tables in front of this 5-star coffee house to enjoy the canal boats passing along the waterway while listening to Bob Marley, European techno or some other kind of music that surpasses my generation.
After ordering an orange juice, a bottle water, Purple Haze bud and some rolling papers, a white van pulled up directly in front of the shop; parking half way on the side walk. I thought, maybe a supply truck? No problem.
A young man with blond, flowing dread locks, a baggy white T-shirt and sagging khaki shorts jumped out of the sliding door and walked briskly inside. Less than one minute later the guy returned to the van sprinting, dread locks flying all over the place, while the driver yelled veraciously in a strong Caribbean accent, "MAN GET IN THE VAN, GET IN!" Weird, maybe, but this Amsterdam; everything is weird. I didn't think anything of it and continued my enjoying my breakfast.
Five minutes later, an army of local police arrived on bikes and rushed in. Things got heated, and I'm not talking about the pipes... I glanced inside to see what was going on. Never, in my wildest dreams could I have imagined what I was about to see.
A guy, and the only customer inside at the moment, had just had his throat slit from ear to ear. I stood behind the glass doors in shock, awing the canal of dark blood flooding the tile floor. The bartender spoted me and quickly ran toward me and said, ''the Greenhouse his closed. You must leave now! And don't worry about your bill.''
I left, but was still curious about what was going on. I crossed the canal and sat at another coffee shop on the opposite side of the Green House. I watched the entire clean up process. Crews in solid white bio-hazard suits entered and carried the body out in a black bag. Another crew entered with large sponges to soak up the spilt blood. More cops arrived and made sure no one passed by the shop. In less than an hour, everyone vanished, and things went back to normal, as if nothing had occurred.
I rushed back to tell my husband. He first asked, ''Are you sure you just weren't high?''
''Of course I was high!'' I explained to him, ''but I swear to God what I just witnessed was real!''
Later that night, the Green House reopened. I went back to ask for details, I just had to know what really went on. The bar tender looked me dead in the eyes and said, ''Nothing happened. It's best that you leave now and keep your mouth shut!''
