Sebastien Wilcox

In 1991, I  backpacked through Western Europe with one of my best buddies. He warned me not to use his real name (which sounds a lot like Steven Eccles), so to protect him, let’s call him Stephan Eggles. 

Stephan Eccles, I mean Eggles and I landed in Amsterdam. Right away, before even finding a place to stay, we headed out to some coffee shops because we were young and stupid and curious and desperetly wanting to get high. Of course, I have no recollection whatsoever so I’m just stipulating.  We mostly hung out at The Bulldog Cafe and drank orange juice and ordered weed and got the munchies and ate whatever street vendors would be selling and basically, we kept getting lost in the labyrinth that is the Red Light District.

I think.

One night, and I’m guessing that night to be November 24th, we didn’t end up at the Hard Rock Cafe Amsterdam. For years, I thought that we did but after doing a little ir(relevant) research for this post, I realized that the Hard Rock Cafe Amsterdam didn’t open its doors until 1999. So, we weren’t at the Hard Rock Cafe Amsterdam. Let’s just say we were someplace. And for all intents and purposes, let’s say that someplace was in Amsterdam. Hypothetically.

One thing’s for sure, the pot was potent. Or was it the hashish?

What I do remember from this night, is finding out that Freddie Mercury from Queen had passed away. I wasn’t really sad and since all Stephan Eggles wanted to do was play Foosball, I doubt he cared much either. But then, some guy or girl from whatever coffee shop or bar we were in started playing Queen videos. Or maybe it was a cassette tape of Queen’s Greatest Hits. Or maybe it was the restaurant crowd that started chanting Queen songs. Perhaps we were at a football game? Wherever and whatever it was, this is precisely when the space cake kicked in. But it may have been two space cakes. Or three.

I was never much of a Queen fan, but on this night, I would have given anything to hug Freddie Mercury and I’m pretty certain I would have done so naked and with a moustache. Blame it on the seven space cakes. From what I could recall from that night, Freddie sang like an angel. I remember feeling every note as it went through me, like I was a strainer and Freddie’s voice was the tap water. Or maybe his voice was Kraft Dinner noodles and they stayed with me? Me being the strainer? Are you with me?

I was singing along to Another One Bites The Dust, or maybe it was Fat Bottomed Girls but it was definitely not Crazy Little Thing Called Love so I’m not even putting a link to it and not even my ninth space cake would have changed my mind on that terrible song. Between beers or tokes or orange juices or french fries with mayo, I would show Stephan Eggles who the king of the Foosball table was. Or maybe it was the pool table. Or was it ping pong? Space Invaders? Could goldfish possibly be more intelligent than us?

All I know is that we were dumb during our Amsterdam stay. As the years passed, the memories become more foggy. Or maybe more blurred? But If anything, I had one of those life-altering moments (I think) with one of rock and roll’s greatest rock bands. For one night, I became Queen’s biggest fan. It’s something I won’t soon remember.

Of course, Stephan Eggles has no recollection of this night. Might of been because I knocked him out silly with my sleeper hold. Or was it my flying elbow. My leg drop?

The moral of this post? Stephan Eggles had a mullet on this trip. I’d show you a picture but we never brought a camera. Or maybe we did.