The Yes Man

I'm having a hard time figuring out whether I'm submissive or open-minded. I'm constantly being asked to do things, or invited to do things I feel reluctant about, but I find it impossible to say no. Case in point, the Irish girls.

They invited me to go to the beach with them. I was supposed to meet them there. Little did I know that the gave me the directions to the wrong beach. When I figured that out Donna told me that they were at another beach, which I reached only to discover that they were actually at a beach a few miles south. I wasn't so bitter when I finally reached them. I packed along a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes that wouldn't have been as good had I given up and drank alone back in my apartment.

Once I finally reached them we stayed until the sun began falling rapidly and I started seeing my breath. Ï think we should leave soon," I told them.

"Oh, you should come get pizza with us!" Donna suggested. I told her I didn't have money for that Rockefeller shit. "But it's free; my friend invited us over and he's going to give us some." I pointed out that it was probably frozen, and that her friend, a guy who she slept with on a cruise to Norway, probably wasn't looking forward to her bringing any more penises into the picture. "Aw, c'mon."

Gets me every time. "Well, let me get some pants. Where does he live?"

"You can't get pants; you have to come with us! And he lives on the edge of town." Things started to unravel from here on. The Metro, a train going through the bulk of Copenhagen, was not sufficient to get us there. Neither was the S-Tog, which goes hours outside the city. No, we had to take the RER, a line that goes all the way to Sweden and the edge of Germany. This guy lived in Roskilde, a city two hours west of Copenhagen.

They told me this once we got to Central Station. "No, I am not going there! Do you know how far that is?"

"C'mon, Sam!"

The train was nice inside at least. Orla took to sleeping on one of the seats as Donna and I watched silently. I was stewing over letting myself get roped in to going out into Viking territory at ten in the evening equipped with nothing more than a pair of beach shorts and a digital camera.

We met the friend, a football player from Ohio, outside the station. He came with a friend from Venezuela. The walk was completely silent aside from the clinking of the twenty-four pack of Carlsberg Dredless, the footballer, had on his bike and the scratching of a lighter as the Irish girls attempted to smoke a joint of hash and tobacco. I struck up a conversation with the Venezuelan, who told me about anaconda hunting in the Amazon. "It's fucking scary dude."

The dorm, the dorrorm!

They brought us to their luxurious dormitory. In the common room was a group of students who, despite having an ample supply of booze and THC, were exceptionally cold. Dredless made some pizza that was actually delicious and, surprisingly, not frozen. We stayed until four, when I left for the train in a huff, but went back to retrieve Orla because I didn't know how to get back to the station.

My train pass had expired, but I refused to pay again, as did Orla. Despite standing directly in front of the ticket-checker's private compartment, we didn't get so much as a glance for the entire journey home. The train took us directly to Orestad, which I thought was going to take two more transfers to reach. it was dawn when we could finally see recognizable scenery. Really though, eight dollars for pizza is a deal in Denmark, so I had a hard time feeling like the night was wasted. That, and a French guy rolled a blunt I didn't have to pay for.