On the Road

An Apology to the Three Chicks I Stood Up
25 October 2002

The life of a wannabe megalomaniac is never easy, particularly when this self-proclaimed "bad boy" has a conscience and a heart (OK, AND a recently repurchased soul).

Masquerading behind such "alter egos" as Mattimus, Mattopia Jones, and Mr. Mattphisto, characters that help make Mattopia a growing Web site of passion and integrity, I've probably scared off more than a few people and possibly even potential employers.

Oh well. That won't change. It's too much fun.

But, even this "nutter" still shrinks back in abject fear at the thought of pissing off a woman, or even worse, three. All at the same time.

Nonetheless, it happened.

But, in my own defense, it was unintential.

Then again, as one of the women, Lee, would later point out, it takes a true asshole to stand up three women at the same time. Thank you very much.

A group of us were to go to a charity bowling match in The Hague. We were to meet at 6:45 at the tram stop at Centraal Station. That's extemely convenient for my lazy ass; my hotel room is only yards away.

The whole arrangement turned out to be deceptively simple.

I needed my post-OHMIGAWDIVEBEENJERKEDAROUNDAGAINATTHEOFFICE nap. I took two - perhaps three - minutes too long.

I scrambled to get down to the tram stop and arrived just in time to see the 9 tram take off for Holland Spoor station. Looking around, I saw no familiar faces. Nope. Not a one of the several faces I was looking for.

Assuming the worst, as I tend to do, I jumped on the next 17 tram and headed for Den Haag HS.

As I waited for the connecting 8 tram at The Hague's seediest train station, I looked around and still saw no familiar faces.

While on the 8, I followed the maps as we stopped from place to place and watched the arrows on the map move closer to my destination.

Then, disturbingly, this familiar male British voice rang out for all the tram to hear, "HEINRICH, ONE MORE STOP."

Caca! That was James. One of the faces I was looking for.

While getting off, we spot each other and he immediately called Carmen, another missing face.

The response was swift: I'm a dead man.

Carmen and two more of the crew were still waiting for me at Centraal Station. (Um... God knows where.)

When the three arrived at the bowling alley, I was chastised. My tail had already been firmly stuck between my legs for the past half hour.

Why didn't I call?

OK, good point. But I have cell phone issues. At the times I most desperately need it, I usually don't have it with me. When I do have it with me, it's a bugger to get it to work. One phone number will work with ease, the next won't (see my diary section "Hampstead to Heathrow" for more on that thought).

Still being somewhat of a quick thinker, I supplied trayloads of beers, a plate of weird meatball thingies, and a load of french fries in hopes of appeasing the godesses.

Yeah, well, not good enough. Of course. (It might be handy to read my diary section "Women and Their Big Buts" for further enlightenment.)

I tend to leave names and direct references to people out of my diary to protect the comfort of the guilty and the innocent. An exception must be made, though, since these three chicks personally requested a Mattopian-sized apology in my diary. Being such a major bad boy, I am compelled to oblige.

So, to Carmen de Melo, Lee Schonfeld, and Mary Finney, I apologize most massively for my display of utter incompetence and thoughtlessness. Thank you for your forgiveness.

"I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
how wonderful life is now you're in the world."
- Your Song, Elton John

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