Hanky Panky and The Homicidal Hooker: Part Two

If you missed part one, scroll down. I don't feel like linking it.
Ok fine, here it is.

Yes, we had found our way into a biker bar in Amsterdam, but since the only people there were me, BF, Ducky, and Mr. Burp, we didn't really have cause for concern. Mr. Burp's friends had left on the pretense of seeking out the tattoo artist, so we basically took over the bar and made it our own. Mr. Burp seemed to take to us, and was soon well on his way to catching up with us in our inebriation.

It never occurred to us that his friends were actually looking for the tattoo artist, so imagine our surprise when they came back to the bar with a very large, very inked-up man named Molly. I'm assuming it's a Dutch name, I might have asked him, but I was drunk and this was 15 years ago so who knows. During our independent tattoo research throughout the city, Molly's name had come up several times in relation to the Hanky Panky. We had ourselves a celebrity artist!

We immediately set about trying to charm the .....socks ...off of him, so he would tattoo us that night. No such luck. We did manage to charm the shirt off of him, as you can see from the photo. Yes, that's Molly and me in the biker bar. Hi Mom!

Molly proposed an interesting offer - spend the night drinking and carousing with him throughout the red-light district, show up sober -hungover- tomorrow, and he would personally tattoo us for half price. Hmmm....what should we do....

30 seconds later we were wiping down tables and putting stools up on the bar, as Burp had decided to close the bar and come with us. And yes, to answer your question, this sort of thing does happen to me all the time. Well, it did happen to me all the time, back in the day.

I can honestly tell you that I have very little recall about where we all went and what we did. I have vague memories of going in and out of sex shops, of being chased around the canal by a mohawked shop owner with a riding crop, of squinting in a dark bar to see that the people on the stage were in the middle of an orgy, and of juuuuust a bit more drinking. No drugs though. A girl's gotta have her standards.

Ducky and I had reached the point of no return - eat or pass out. Molly sent us around the corner to get hot dogs for the group of us. Mmmm....hot dogs. Five years of vegetarianism down the drain. We found our way to the hot dog vendor and promptly forgot to get anyone else a thing to eat. Important tip - never send a drunk American girl to get your food. Ducky and I got our hot dogs and found ourselves a nice comfy piece of alleyway under a bright red light to park ourselves. Life was good.

I had just taken a bite of my long-awaited weiner when I heard this horribly shrill voice screaming just above me. Ducky and I just sat there dumbfounded, no idea what was going on in our foggy state. And then the voice got closer, and closer, until it - and its owner - were right in front of us.

It was a hooker. Yes, a real honest-to-God red light Amsterdam prostitute. Apparently we were sitting on the ground just below her window, and she was not happy about it. I have absolutely no idea what she was screaming - it was all very Charlie Brown teacher to me - WONK WONK WONK WONK WONK was all I heard. We stared at her slack-jawed, like the proverbial deer in the headlights. When she realized we weren't moving until we were finished our gourmet meal, she stormed off, wonking all the way.

Ducky and I went back to work on our hot dogs. Across the alley was another hooker in her window. She waved us over to her. Intrigued, we managed to haul ourselves up to see what she wanted. She opened her door and asked us what had happened and if we were ok. I was surprised by how friendly and down to earth she was. She told us the other hooker was a bitch who was always yelling at the tourists and to pay her no mind. I remember thinking that this girl could have very easily been one of my friends, so normal did she seem. We sat and chatted with her for a bit; it was a slow night in the district.

When we finally turned to go, I saw that two middle-eastern looking men were ogling the wonker. She was dancing and squirming, trying to entice them to come to her. As they gestured to her to open her door, I suddenly found myself infuriated that the wonker was going to get business while my new friend there lost out because she was being nice to us. And I was not about to let that happen.

I stormed over to the potential johns, grabbed them by their shirts, and shouted, "You don't want to go to her, she's a bitch, go to HER instead!", and I literally threw them over to my new hooker friend. She quickly let them in, blew me a thank you kiss, and slammed her door shut. I smiled smugly to myself as her shade was drawn. I helped my new friend! I was so proud.

And then we heard that shrieking sound again. Only this time I could hear words like fucking bitch and you're dead mixed in with the shrieks.

I remember very clearly seeing Ducky's eyes go really wide as he grabbed my hand and screamed "RUN!!!!!!!!!". I turned to look, and saw that the hooker was coming after us with something in her hand. It might have been a bat, a machete, I had no idea. My life flashed before my eyes as Ducky jerked me around and we ran like hell, screaming like banshees. Crazy thoughts were flashing through my head - I can't believe how fast she can move in her Frederick's of Hollywood heels, I am going to be killed by a hooker in Amsterdam and that is all anyone will remember about me, just let us get back to Voorburgwal - she can't kill us in front of all those people. Our screams were almost as loud as hers - "MOOOOOLLLLLYYYY!!!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!" I could hear her screeching behind us, "Your mommy can't help you now!!", just as we reached Voorburgwal and I slammed right into the arms of Molly.

The hooker stopped dead in her tracks when she realized we were under Molly's protection. He said something to calm her down, took away whatever was in her hand that she meant to kill me with, and sent her back to her window. He gave us a good scolding for interfering with her business, but he was really more interested in knowing where the hot dogs were. Then we got scolded again for forgetting his food. We decided then it was time to call it a night.

BF and I did make it back to the Hanky Panky the next day - around 5:00 pm. Molly couldn't believe we actually showed, and even Burp and his friends came down from upstairs when they heard we had arrived. Burp gave us a tour of the museum and Molly showed us pictures of the different rock stars he had tattooed. He drew at least a dozen roses for me until I had just what I wanted, gave me a package of toilet paper to put under my head for a pillow - something I don't think he did for just anyone - and gave me a mirror so I could watch him tattoo my ass. I must have screamed "Is that BLOOD!!!!" 20 times, and each time he would stop so I could see that it was ink, not blood. And yes, it hurts to get a tattoo! Anyone who says it doesn't is lying.

A few months later we went back to Amsterdam one last time. Our first stop was the Hanky Panky to see Molly and Burp again. To be honest, I didn't really expect them to remember us. We were tourists in a tourist town - girls like us came and went on a daily basis. Molly wasn't there, so we introduced ourselves to Henk Schiffmacher, the owner of the Hanky Panky, who insisted on seeing our tattoos.

Yep, that's a Hanky Panky rose alright, he said.

Just then Molly showed up and threw his arms around us.

You remember us! We were so happy to be remembered.

Molly burst out laughing and sent someone upstairs to get Burp. Then he said something to Henk in Dutch, who promptly burst out laughing as well.

So! Henk said, you're the one that almost got herself macheted by that hooker!!

It's always nice to be remembered.

Sort of.