“Dutch” life

Automated phone messages are the worst, aren’t they?? By the time you register what they have said, you’ve forgotten what extension number it was you wanted in the first place. Today I called the Dr to get LPVan appointment…………….automated message, in DUTCH!! I start pressing numbers at random hoping at some point I will get through to a human and will have the obligatory conversation

Me: Do yo speak English?

Them: Yes a little

Then they talk better English than me, why do they do this?? I’m not an ignorant tourist, I don’t walk around Amsterdam with Union Jack shorts on with a can of tenants extra in my hand, I’m trying to fit in with the culture, I have an incurable coffee addition, I’m taking dutch lessons & I have a bike!!! However I am an EXPAT I have a culture of my own too. Anyhoo, I eventually get through and get a severe telling off as I have come through on the emergency line and it’s NOT 11:30 and you  can not make an appointment until 11;30. Nothing changes does it, it seems across the world the Dr’s receptionist is a total bitch and thinks she Dr Quinn Medicine woman. I call back at 11:30 still not knowing what option to press, only to get another telling off as I did the same thing again and came in on the emergency line……………………it is an emergency, I can’t FARKING*** understand you!!! She’s tells me off for a second time and I let rip, telling her if they’re going to openly except expats into the surgery they should provide a service they can understand!! I’m told to call again and press number 3, I do this and after the hour of struggling LPV gets an appointment. After all that, it’s a…………….can you guess…………………VIRUS!!!

Anyhoo Daddy comes home early so we can celebrate a great start at nursery, so we go to the bike shop and really submerge ourselves into Dutch culture and get LPV a bike seat and a very wee cutesy helmet* not quite submerged as you can tell expat children, they’re only one’s with helmets*. They fit the seat and higher my saddle much to EPD’s disgust they charge us 11euro for the pleasure. Outside the shop we decide to get LPV used to the seat before I start falling and crashing practicing with him on it.  This turned into a very loud game of spot the expat child who’s never been on a bike before. Wheeling him through the streets screaming, it became clear that this will take sometime as A: my feet NO longer touch the ground when I stop and B: LPV clearly hates this seat, oh and I forgot to mention the mammoth strop when the helmet was attempted to be lowered onto his head.

I swear I could here in his cries “Why in the hell, did you bring me to this place…they don’t have Cheerios and where is my Ford explorer gone??”

So there you have it folks just a standard day in the life of an expat

***Farking is borrow from the lovely Motherventing she farking amazing!!

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