Merlijn Nash and the Eight Euro Cookie | The Dreamweaver

I was on my way home and decided to pick up some food for dinner so I walked through town looking for a take out.

Walking past a restaurant I saw an old friend, Merlijn, who I knew from my music promoter days and who hadn’t seen in more than ten years.

We talked for a few minutes and he said he was just about to finish his shift at the restaurant and told me to meet him at the counter for a drink.

I walked to the back of the restaurant and asked if they had any food to go and the woman behind the counter pointed to a large pan and said the biryani was all they had left.

It looked liked it had been sitting out all day and was mostly unappetizing so I ordered one of the large chocolate chip cookies that was in a display case on the counter.

After waiting for what seemed an unusually long time for Merlijn, I decided to pay for the cookie and be on my way.

The woman behind the counter handed me a small receipt for the cookie and to my complete dismay saw she charged me eight euros for the single cookie.

When I questioned her about the exorbitant price of the cookie, she said that there was a minimum “entertainment supplement” included in the price, that because I had been in the restaurant for more than forty minutes, the extra charge was added to the bill.

I told the woman I thought that was unfair and excessive and asked where the policy was posted in writing to which she showed me the small print at the bottom of the receipt which was literally so small it was barely legible, even with my reading glasses.

Just then, sensing trouble, a huge giant of a man I quickly realized to be the restaurant’s bouncer walked up to me and--–ever so typically--–asked if there was a problem.

Just as I was about to explain my predicament, the giant bouncer placed his thumb on my forehead just above my right eyebrow slightly below the brim of of my baseball cap, which scared me senseless as I was worried he was going to apply some pressure point tactic that would render me unconscious––or dead!

The giant said it would be best if I just paid and went on my way.

Seeing Merlijn heading for the door, I shouted to him but he seemed to deliberately ignore me. I called out again saying “help me, you’re my friend!” to which he cried back, “I was your friend years ago but I’m not your friend anymore.”

I looked at the giant and told the woman behind the counter that I would pay the eight euros with my Apple Watch and she set a new receipt down on the counter which had a new price, this time being 440 euros.

Completely taken aback, I pushed my way past the giant and ran out the door, losing myself amongst the bustling rush hour crowd.

Then I woke up.