Fiets

"He once told me that the art of getting ahead in New York was based on learning how to express dissatisfaction in an interesting way. The air was full of rage and complaint. People had no tolerance for your particular hardship unless you knew how to entertain them with it." -- White Noise, DeLillo

This, I believe, is a very astute and a very much universal observation. Unless you know how to turn your grudge into a story - don't even bother. What I have realized since I had read these words is that Amsterdam has spared me an effort and each of my misadventures here came with a narrative I don't even have to make up.

When my bicycle was stolen a month ago I firmly resolved not to fall into despair (despite it being such a magnificent bicycle purchased at such a superb discount that I was going to make profit on reselling it at the end of my stay in NL) and just go an get another one. There is a non-profit (?!) bike shop right in my building. They buy bicycles fished out of canals (there is a job for that in Amsterdam) for cheap from the government, fix them, and sell them at a still very decent price.

My cultural studies professor (the one which looks and acts like Tracy) told us a story of his childhood as an illustration of gender-specific roles forced upon us at very early stages. He fancied a bicycle with a step-through frame, a "ladies' bicycle", and he could not quite understand why his parents forced him to get a boys' one, with a high top tube. Until then I had actually never thought about bicycles in these gendered terms, but I have always found the former type more aesthetically pleasing (and more practical! wearing a skirt? no problem!).

So when I was picking a fished out of the water bicycle for myself to be fixed, I had consciously chosen the "ladys'" one. My little contribution to queering the world. The guy told me to come back for it in a week, on Thursday. I did. The place was closed. And it was closed on Friday too. And then on Monday, and then on Tuesday.

When I had finally managed to get to the place I was told the guy who sold me the bike "went out with the bang" and I had to choose another one. So I did. The ladies' one, again. This time the transaction went smoothly. The new guy who sold it to me also told me a secret. The municipality tows improperly parked bikes to a specially designated place. "So my 'stolen' one might be there?" I asked. "Where did you park it?" "Leidseplein". "Oh, definitely!" he answered, "Call this number. Now you have a spare bike".

I don't like talking on the phone to strangers, so I wrote an email. "Hello! I was wondering If you might have my bike. It is a black Locomotief registered under the number AF0626227". Meanwhile, I felt like a fool. No, not like a fool, just upset. I have just bought a new bicycle, while I could have just retrieved my old one (for the price of 10EUR, but still!), if only I had known how this whole thing works. I conveyed my frustrations to my mother and she immediately understood me. I would have preferred my bike to be legitimately stolen than to have this silly mishap on my hands.

How relieved I was to receive an email "Unfortunately I can't find a bike under that registration number."

But the guy also asked for more details, like where it was removed from, and when, and what it looked like. I described, but did not get an answer for days. I relaxed. Until today: "I think I found your bike" with a precise description. Oh for fuck's sake.

Of course I'm gonna have to go and get it now, in the rain, at the price of paying for the public transportation, and something strange is going on with my knee... But LCC taught me to think on the margin. And that I'd definitely sell it with at least 300% of whatever I pay to retrieve it. So why do I feel so miserable about it?