Mission Impossible

I'm going out to L.A. next week to pitch my idea for the fourth Mission Impossible movie.

Having foiled nuclear threats, thwarted international terrorism, prevented global catastrophies, and smashed international criminal rings, I think it's time for Tom Cruise to show what he's really made of and try to do something that truly is impossible!

His mission? To get some fucking change out of one of the morons who works at Centraal Station in Amsterdam.

Admittedly, the movie running time of 437 hours might put some punters off.

If you were at Centraal Station this morning between 9.15 and 9.45, you may have witnessed a man screaming and swearing at various employees around the station; tearing at his clothes and hair; and generally gesticulating wildly and scarily. A mental patient? An asylum escapee? No - it was me.

I swear to God, I am going to die before I am 40, the way my blood pressure is going through the roof living here.

What induced this fury? It really is bizarre. If you ask any of my friends or family, they will tell you that I am absolutely not a violent person. Ok, I may be a bit sarcastic, or a smart-arse now and again, but I am normally pretty even-tempered, and certainly have never been involved in a physical fight in my life. Right now, though, I want to headbutt someone. Hard.

All I wanted to do was get €3.60 in change.

First, I went to the Ako newsagent and picked up a paper and some gum. When handing over a €20 note, I said 'please can I get change for the ticket machine from that?' The guy looked in complete and utter astonishment at me: the most amazed I have ever seen anybody look in my entire life. He spluttered at me, struggling to get the words out, as he gasped for oxygen in disbelief - 'but that is not posssshibollllllllllll!!!'

I asked him why not?

Him - 'We need the money for the other customers!!'

Me - 'Right - I am a customer, so can I have some of the money you've been keeping for me?'

Him - 'It is not possssssshibolllllllllll'

Me - [gritting my teeth] 'maybe you could pick up 2 of the 2 euro coins there in front of you and hand them over to me?'

Him - 'It will cosht ush money'

Me - 'Er, noooo, it won't: you owe me the money anyway; I'm just asking you to denominate it slightly differently'

Him - 'It is not possssssshibolllllll - we have to go the bank at the end of the day for change and they charge us'

Me - [exploding] 'Why the fuck is everything so difficult in this complete dump of a country??!'

By this time, a line of about 9 people had formed behind me, so they were all witness to this.

I continued:

Me - 'For fuck's sake - could you just make an exception for once and hand me two 2 euro coins - please??!!'

Him - [smugly] 'It is not poshibolll'

Me - 'Fucking cheapskate loser!'

So off I had to go, muttering under my breath 'fucking ridiculous' as I did the walk of shame past the various people who had gathered to watch my meltdown. I'm sure I must have looked completely bonkers to them, but I was so frustrated, I couldn't help it.

Next, I thought I'd try the ticket office. At Schiphol, in the same circumstances, you can always get change from the ticket office, though you typically have to queue for about 4 hours to get it.

Logically, I picked the shortest queue - the one for International Tickets, as there were about 4,000 people in line for the domestic tickets. I swear, the woman behind the counter was the spitting image of Hilde from SunDaze: that was what was waiting for me at the end of the queue.

A reminder:



So I eventually reach the top of the queue, paused, smiled, and said 'good morning'. She just gave me a filthy look and did not say anything. I took the €20 from my wallet and said 'please can you give me change for this so I can buy a ticket?' Again, she didn't speak, nor make eye contact at me, but merely pointed to another part of the ticket office.

Me - 'Excuse me for repeating myself, but please can you give me change?'

Again, she didn't speak, or look at me, but stood up and turned off the light over her booth to indicate that she was no longer providing customer service. She then turned around in her swivel chair and started chatting in Dutch to her colleague.

I think even her colleague was a bit stunned by this, because she looked at me and for a split second, I thought I saw a flicker of humanity and understanding. So I said to the second lady 'maybe you could help me? I'm just trying to get some change?', to which the first lady, turned, glared at me, and again pointed in a different direction.

Clearly, I wasn't going to get anywhere here, so I had nothing to lose.

So I said to Lady Number 2, pointing at Lady Number 1, 'excuse me, could you call this man's supervisor for me? I'd like to make a complaint'

Lady Number 2 - [astonished] 'she is not a man!!'

Lady Number 1 - [furious; spitting] 'oiiiiii aaaccccccchhhhhh oooooooook' [or something like that, in Dutch]

Me - [shouting at Lady Number 1] - 'I hope you fry on your next sunbed session!'

And then, once again, I turned - without change - and took a long walk of shame past several bewildered, and a few frightened, customers. God forbid some of them were also in the queue at Ako a few minutes before.

I know, I know - you don't need to tell me. But I was boiling mad: I guess it wasn't just those 2 incidents this morning, but the cumulative effect of hitting my head against a brick wall for over a year.

The worst thing? A nervous-looking guy tapped me on the arm and said 'Excuse me - there is a change machine just there', pointing to the corner of the ticket office, in the same direction in which Lady Number 1 had originally pointed. I now realised that I definitely looked like a complete and utter freak: ie, to a casual observer, the only party at fault in all of this was me, not them.

Summoning as much dignity as I could, I went to the machine, got my change and went off to buy my ticket.

I needed to call someone to tell them of my trauma: I wanted to hear someone reassure me that I was not going mentally insane. So I called my partner, whilst waiting for my train on the platform to recount my experiences. As I was telling him the whole story, I got totally wound up all over again, so started shouting down the phone and gesticulating wildly.

At the height of my story, as I was literally waving my hands around like a windmill, I saw the nervous-looking guy who had told me about the change machine on the opposite platform, looking at me. From the expression on his face, it was clear he thought that I required heavy medication.