A Daring Culture Clash

(My friends and I are walking around Amsterdam (we don’t live there). We stand out, as all of us are clearly metal-heads or otherwise alternatively dressed. We are quite the merry bunch, too, so we are seen skipping around the most expensive neighborhood in town.)

Friend: *spots an expensive brand store* “Hey, wouldn’t be cool if we skipped right in there and asked where the nearest punk shop is?”

Me: “Sure, go ahead!”

Friend: *suddenly backs down* “Hmm… don’t think they’ll appreciate that.”

Me: “Oh this was your idea! You wuss… Look and behold!”

(I skip to the store, which is near empty with only two store clerks busy with steam-ironing a shirt worth close to €500 on a rack.)

Me: *beaming* “Hello! Do you happen to know where we can find a punk shop around here?”

(Both the clerks look semi-shocked and disgusted, looking at me: a girl wearing muddy combat boots, a long buckled coat, and spiked bracelets.)

Clerk: *with the most painful smile I have ever seen* “Well… clearly not around here.”

Me: “That’s obvious, isn’t it? So where should we look?”

Clerk: “You should try at [Street]. There’s a shop there called [Name], and is more suited for… your kind.”

Me: “Fantastic! Thank you!”

(I skip out of there.)

Friend: *dying in laughter* “I can’t believe you just did that! So, where is that punk shop?”

(We found said street and wound up at the red-light district. The ‘punk store’ was an SM store that sold whips, leather cat-suits, and the like, along with some horror shirts and latex outfits that might appeal to some extreme goths, but certainly not to us!)