| |
| |
Summer 2000, the Netherlands —
I was walking along the arc of Prinsengracht, one of the main semicircular canals that define the shape of downtown Amsterdam, when I saw a sign on a bagel shop that said "Personeel gevraagd." I knew that it was a "help wanted" sign.
I had been living for a few weeks on a houseboat on Nieuwe Prinsengracht, a 17th-century extension of the canal east of the Amstel river.
The walk along Prinsengracht was pleasant, and one whose geography I could understand. Cardinal directions are difficult in Amsterdam, even with some experience. The semicircular canals provide a rare consistent form. They are easy to backtrack, and they make it easier to remember locations found while en-route within the city.
Rob, one of the owners of Bagel Village, invited me to sit and talk. He got some cups of coffee and we went to a bench outside, overlooking the canal.
Do you have papers, he asked. No, I said. Oh, that's a problem.
Then he asked me how old I was. 36. That meant he would have to pay me 13.50 guilders per hour. The legal minimum wage in Holland is age-calibrated — and even though I was not legal to work in the country, he hired me at the legal wage for a 36-year old.