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Some sentences are more bitter than others, and a sentence like “nice guys finish last” is one of them. How tempting it is to believe that when people don’t treat you the way you wish to be treated. Holding a belief like that may protect you against a few jerks, but at the cost of fulfilling, meaningful relationships you could otherwise build.

This Veteran’s Day I was chatting with an old friend. She was telling me about how she saw one professor treating her grad and PhD students like crap in the lab, and how that was frustrating to witness, because those students were good students, and they didn’t deserve such treatment. “You don’t have to be mean to be respected,” she said.

Maybe the professor thinks this is the best way to prove that she deserves authority. That’s fine if you’re in charge of a research lab and would like things done in a particular way, and to do so with (and out of) fear and manipulation is certainly a quick way to go about it. But fear is not the same as respect, and the moment a better opportunity presents itself for the people you work with, that control you so deeply held will slip away as they all get the hell away from you.

My friend was talking about the professor, but the comment stuck with me. I was just starting to get frustrated with what I perceived as people taking advantage of me — something that bothers me more and more as I get older. They don’t respect me, I thought. I need to teach them a lesson.

I stopped myself then and there, but it’s easy to see how a perception like that can quickly spiral out of control.

I don’t want to fall into the trap of entitlement and feel that everybody is obligated to treat me with respect and kindness — the world doesn’t owe me anything — but at the same time, I don’t want to be a doormat. How do I walk that balance?

The conversation moved on from there, but it’s still in the back of my mind.

~~~~

“Did you call her out on this? [the professor?]”
“Wesley, I need a recommendation letter from her!”

What a complicated world. I would have done the same.

A misunderstanding had occurred, and (luckily) I was in the right. The other guy felt bad about it and apologized profusely. No, no, it’s alright. It happens, I tell him. I wanted to mean it when I said that, but in all honesty I still felt quite bitter. He tries to apologize more but I cut him off, wish him a good time, and then walk away.

And then came this smug feeling inside of me.

That is lekker slecht, loosely described.

It’s that smugness & satisfaction you feel when somebody has been a wiener to you, and they not only realize and acknowledge it, but also feel bad about it. And so, in an odd way, you feel good about the whole thing.

Or at least slightly better.

“Sunday Supper” happens once a quarter in the international house at UCSD. It’s an evening of good food and good music, where students who don’t normally dress fancy have to (and probably want to) dress up fancy. I even swapped my usual shirt and shorts for a tie and slacks.

People look fantastic this night. And since they look fantastic, they feel fantastic — so of course they’d like to look fantastic a bit longer. I certainly did. It’s been several hours since the event ended, and I’m still in a button-up and tie, writing this.

——-

Enter the corn on the cob.

Here I was, sitting at a table with seven other people, and more than half of them are using a fork and knife to eat their corn on the cob. Guys and girls, both.

I always thought corn on the cob was one of those foods that you eat with your bare hands, like you do pizza slices by your palm and french fries with your fingers (unless it’s drenched in sauce, where something like a fork would be acceptable).

True, everybody was all dressed up in button-down shirts, ties, and in their Sunday best, and nobody wanted to mess that up too early. But we’re still students! I thought we were supposed to rebel and stuff. I wanted to see the British girl next to me go H.A.M. on the corn on the cob, so when we talked a few minutes later we couldn’t help but accidentally spit corn bits on each other’s faces.

This isn’t a fetish. It’s more like an appreciation of how spraying our words instead of saying it is another way of showing that we’re all human, and that we can’t always be refined and proper.

Maybe another time.

The ethics committee at Utrecht University governs what can and can’t be done in scientific experiments, especially in psychology and social neuroscience. Experiments with any threat of inflicting psychological or physical harm on a participant are forbidden. (e.g. Milgram, Stanford Prison Experiment)

A shame really, because those experiments are often the most cited, and revealing.

[In other words, the glory days of psychology are long gone.]

Having an ethics committee sounds good (and morally sound) in principle, but now it just leads to a whole bunch of bureaucracy and paperwork. Graduate students and professors complain about how it takes years just to get approval for some experiments.

~

“Do we have to worry about the ethics committee?” asked Marissa. We are in a study group together and we need to come up with a project proposal within two weeks.

“Not here.” said the professor. “They’re quite good.”

The Rhijnauwen is the forested area behind the university campus, complete with cows, sheep, and a gorgeous pancake house in the center. It used to be a castle and fiefdom, but now it’s a public park. A lot of families and old couples like to spend their mornings and afternoons here on a sunny day.

It’s also a fun place for beer bicycling at night.

Every week, the Erasmus Student Network (ESN) arranges a different activity for the international students, and this week was the time for bierfietsen. Most events take a few days to fill up with people, but this one sold out within a few hours. The promise of unlimited beer probably helped with that.

The beer bike is like a modified open-air food truck, except instead of being powered by a gas engine it’s powered by ten pairs of feet. Five people sit on each side, with each seat having its own bike pedals. There’s one sober driver, and at least one person serving out the beer. Neon blue lights, loud sound system, and a bell to ring when a stranger passes by — the beer bicycle is just screaming for a good time.

We spent about one and a half hours riding around the forest and the school campus. You could see cows resting, and parents biking back home with children riding on the back. Some people avert their eyes and pretend nothing is happening, but the older people passing by tend to cheer us on.

Many of the paved roads in the forest are only wide enough for one-way traffic, so every car that had the misfortune of encountering us had the glorious view of drunken international students until the next turn came up. Walking is three times faster than the beer bicycle even with ten people pedaling, so this meant we could spend some quality time with each other.

Every so often the beer bicycle would make a stop so people could pee behind the trees. And every time there was a bump or pothole in the road, the coordinators would should shout hold onto your beers! One lady even fell off before one of the turns.

~

So why go on a beer bicycle in the forest? Apart from the good exercise, wouldn’t it just be easier to go to the student Cambridgebar downstairs for cheap alcohol? (We actually went inside for more drinks afterward, but that’s beside the point).

Experiencing the same locations in novel contexts is one way to create and reinforce lasting memories.

Any time there’s a sunny day I run around the forest. It’s a familiar routine and I’ve done it enough times that I have mental notes on where each trail goes, and where the coziest benches along the river are for picnics and kissing. But beer bicycling on these same routes? Now that’s unfamiliar and exciting. And it’s left such an impression on me that every time I run, the beer bike creeps into my mind, even if I’m not in the mood for beer.

The Cambridgebar below where I live in Cambridgelaan is run by student volunteers, and is the only bar in Utrecht under Heineken’s “Star Serve” program. That means that every bartender in the Cambridgebar should know the proper way to serve a Heineken beer. People who work at Heineken organize training sessions, and every once in a while a secret customer will come in to see if everybody is getting the “Star Serve” experience.

So, what is the proper way to serve a Heineken beer?

Continue reading “the star serve program, or my first time bartending”