The cops were nice guys, the one named Jorge sat next to me and sometimes held my hand to stop the fidgeting and gave me ‘don’t worry’-looks. The Chief of Police was an old, slightly German looking obese man in shorts who kept touching my hair whenever he walked by (?). The Rock just stood there, glaring at me, not smiling but not angry looking either which made me even more confused. I’m a fan of The Rock (the real one). I even follow him on Instagram, go figure. My face was puffy from crying, I was dehydrated because I’d had no water since breakfast and had been sitting in the sun for hours, sunburned & just generally felt like dying. Suddenly The Rock handed me a note from Chief himself; which said in Dutch ‘You’re so beautiful, too pretty to cry. I want to kiss you’. Google translate's new slogan should be 'creating gross moments globally'. Those words made me cry (again), he thought it was of happiness, it was out of sheer terror. Going to jail or marry the Chief to stay out of jail? Would that make me Miss Chief? Mischief? I would NOT survive women prison in Brazil...right?
After an hour the cleaninggirls arrived, looking guilty as hell, too ashamed to admit they made a mistake and tell what REALLY happened: too afraid of their Boss Bitch. She said; ‘We’ll let you go if you give us one thing: the passport’. I was confused ‘My passport? I need it to return home!' She exploded again, her angry, suddenly ugly face inches from mine, intimidation at it’s finest. 'NOT YOUR FUCKING PASSPORT! HIS PASSPORT!'. Two very French guys (not the nice kind) appeared, speaking in rapid French, one turned to me and shouted (with an ‘Allo ‘Allo’ish accent) 'PUTAIN WHY’D YOU RUIN MY VACATION YOU THIEF', which made me cry -again. The other guy was going through the bags making sure everything was still in there (it was, I still wasn’t wearing the size 46 sneakers) and I tried to explain, telling him it was a mixup, I never laid eyes on the bags, why would I? He seemed to believe me because it really didn’t make any sense, but the Bitch saw him rethinking this ordeal, she walked right up to me and yelled 'REALLY MARY? THAT’S THE STORY YOU WANT TO TELL THEM? FUCKING LIAR!' At this point I was sobbing hysterically (past the ugly cry) but without tears because I was dehydrated so I just looked and sounded like a seal. Locals had gathered in front of the station where I was sitting and let me tell you; public humiliation isn’t cool.
The Chief was Google translating the hell out of his feeling for me and when he saw in my passport my birthday was on June 6th (that day was June 5th) he started congratulating me in advance and forced Jorge to sing a very Brazilian Happy Birthday song together for me. Nice to know that even my worst nightmares have a way of turning into slapsticks.
The Bitch was pacing around, talking on the phone: to my Brazilian aunt in the Netherlands, but I didn’t know that until the next day. After I told my mom this Bitch & Boat situation was bad news + the name of the hotel, my phone died. Being the mom she is, she wasted no time to help me. She had contact with our lawyer, called the Dutch Embassy in Brazil, the Brazilian one in Holland and the emergency number BuZa; but they didn't answer right away. She then called my aunt in the middle of the night, who called the hotel, several times even to smooth things over and mainly to calm the Bitch. It helped because the Bitch wasn’t afraid to lock me up/make me shark bait but instead she listened to my aunt, who asked her to tell the French guy whose passport was missing to check his room again. Side note: who the hell leaves a passport in an open plastic bag unattended in a non-secured hotel lobby? Were you dropped on your head when you were little?
We waited in silence, I knew that if he couldn’t find his misplaced documents I'd be in more trouble since nobody listened to me or responded to my request to take my statement/check my backpack to see I didn’t steel anything. Then I realised I had my back turned to the backpack & the crew on the boat, maybe they put something in there: the passport? Drugs?
The French guy returned, looking... ashamed? With my high school French I could perfectly understand him when he said his passport had been in the backpocket of the shorts HE WAS WEARING RIGHT NOW AND HAD BEEN ALL DAY. I forgot to breathe and got the loudest hiccups I’ve ever had. Instead of apologising, The Bitch and the French guys called me a putain one last time and left, leaving me with the Chief, Jorge & The Rock. I was a mess and my legs were shaking so they finally took me inside and gave me the Best Chair (which was the Chiefs). The Chief left, gave me a big fat wet birthday kiss on my cheek and took off, happily waddling away on his sandals while singing the Brazilian Birthday Song again.
The Chief was Google translating the hell out of his feeling for me and when he saw in my passport my birthday was on June 6th (that day was June 5th) he started congratulating me in advance and forced Jorge to sing a very Brazilian Happy Birthday song together for me. Nice to know that even my worst nightmares have a way of turning into slapsticks.
The Bitch was pacing around, talking on the phone: to my Brazilian aunt in the Netherlands, but I didn’t know that until the next day. After I told my mom this Bitch & Boat situation was bad news + the name of the hotel, my phone died. Being the mom she is, she wasted no time to help me. She had contact with our lawyer, called the Dutch Embassy in Brazil, the Brazilian one in Holland and the emergency number BuZa; but they didn't answer right away. She then called my aunt in the middle of the night, who called the hotel, several times even to smooth things over and mainly to calm the Bitch. It helped because the Bitch wasn’t afraid to lock me up/make me shark bait but instead she listened to my aunt, who asked her to tell the French guy whose passport was missing to check his room again. Side note: who the hell leaves a passport in an open plastic bag unattended in a non-secured hotel lobby? Were you dropped on your head when you were little?
We waited in silence, I knew that if he couldn’t find his misplaced documents I'd be in more trouble since nobody listened to me or responded to my request to take my statement/check my backpack to see I didn’t steel anything. Then I realised I had my back turned to the backpack & the crew on the boat, maybe they put something in there: the passport? Drugs?
The French guy returned, looking... ashamed? With my high school French I could perfectly understand him when he said his passport had been in the backpocket of the shorts HE WAS WEARING RIGHT NOW AND HAD BEEN ALL DAY. I forgot to breathe and got the loudest hiccups I’ve ever had. Instead of apologising, The Bitch and the French guys called me a putain one last time and left, leaving me with the Chief, Jorge & The Rock. I was a mess and my legs were shaking so they finally took me inside and gave me the Best Chair (which was the Chiefs). The Chief left, gave me a big fat wet birthday kiss on my cheek and took off, happily waddling away on his sandals while singing the Brazilian Birthday Song again.
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