You know, I’ve found that there are as many types of pop songs as there are stoners. Think about it: Some are surprisingly deep, some are idiotic. Some of them are old, and it’s probably time for them to give it up, but others are old and that’s what makes them cool. Few parents have much appreciation for either of them, and they’re both almost boringly easy to make fun of. Most importantly, this weekend reminded me that with both pop songs and potheads, sometimes it’s wildly entertaining having them around at a party and sometimes, they would have been better off elsewhere, where no one has to listen to them. That being said, Amsterdam was one of my favorite destinations, and I’ll put off uploading pictures with the tale of the last (but certainly not the first) pop song that wandered into my weekend.
So, picture this. The mood is tense. After some train delays (the official announcement: “We had to zztop ze train because there was a dog on ze tracks, and we almost hit a person.” Thanks for the info, Belgian train system!), we were in a mad dash to the Charleroi Airport and frantically hopped into a taxi. After a jumbled interaction consisting mostly of hand motions and awkward stares, we’re somehow able to communicate that we need to get to the airport.
We’re all a little stressed and agitated to be paying for a taxi, except– wait– is that? Excuse me, sir? Taxi driver in the argyle sweater, are you playing MC Hammer? Blasting it at full volume?
Oh, you’re turning it up louder?
Awesome. I’ll just sit back here and soak this in as you speed 100mph down the highway. This is a beat, uh, you can’t touch.