I am now certified to operate a motor vehicle in the Netherlands and within the European Union.

Pretty cool, considering I still have no idea what most of the signs mean.

The Dutch bureaucracy came through, in less time than they advertise. Even though those bitches at the regional office kept giving me a hassle about not supplying the original version of my “You Are Special” tax ruling as specified in the regulations. I guess the automatons at the Ministry of Paperwork Related to Cars and Driving gave me a break.

I have a mind to cycle over to the regional office just to whip out my brand new pink, tri-folded “Rijbewijs”, with the picture of me staring dumbly out (the instructions on the photo machine were in Dutch and I was still trying to read them when the stupid flash went off), slap it down on the counter and yell, “BOOYA BEOTCH!”

Then again, maybe I’ll drive over instead.

Now I need to find an automatic for sale in this land of diesel stick-shifts.

Drivers of the Netherlands (and surrounding countries) beware. In the words of Carlito Brigante… “Here come the pain!

Categories: Europe

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