Friday, April 29, 2016

Copenhagen: Day 1

I think the man 5 feet from me is about to die.

I have been awake for close to 60 hours, and before that it isn't quite like I was getting great sleep.

I traded in a sweaty campground for a loud 8 person ensuite. I am bunk #7, but I'm fairly certain that whoever is in bunk #5 is about to die. He has this snoring pattern that I think is what leads people to wearing that embarrassing sleep apnea mask, but honestly I think this dude is about to drop dead of SIDS. But the adult version.

Meanwhile in the bunk below me, there is a guy who has been trying to get off for close to two hours. The girl has given him the "are you almost there?" at least 5 times. I want this guy to finish both in self interest and male solidarity. Then a curveball, instead of finishing and falling asleep like a gentleman, this guy gets up to go take a shit.

All the while I've got that damn Flume song in my head and I'm wondering if I will ever get a good night's sleep again. How did we get here...

Wednesday night I boarded my Norweigian Air flight. I was seated between two elderly Finnish people whom I offered to trade seats with several times. They preferred to lean over me the entire flight and tell what I can only imagine were AMAZING stories in their native tongue.

Since I did not order the in flight dinner option, I am treated like an absolute Pariah by the flight attendants, one water and one beer in 12 hours, this is what $350 round trip to Europe gets you.

I watch The Force Awakens (9/10 would watch again) Black Mass (4/10 meh) and 2 episodes of You're the Worst (10/10 must binge) and then I land in Copenhagen. It's raining. Trip not off to a good start.

But as soon as I make it to the hostel things take a turn for the better. I am almost immediately surrounded by non-American English speakers. 2 Scots, 2 Kiwis, 3 Aussies, omg it's just like in movies, you travel alone and make friends. 12 Carlsbergs and 8 games of pool later we're best friends. Anytime I run out of something interesting to say I drop a pop culture reference or ask the group to try an American accent, it kills.

I'm definitely not the coolest one in the group, but obviously I have an ace in the hole, I'm David Moeller, party God. Once we get to the bar I'll show them.

We grab a nice pregame table at our hostel bar, right next to the DJ. They play Toto 'Africa' I am asked if I was in a frat. (duh) There are three cute Canadian girls sitting at the table next to me, I keep looking at them hoping they come say hi. They do not. I do not say hi because I am a coward. Note to self: involve Fireball tomorrow morning and talk to the Canadian girls.

Around midnight I leave the hostel for the first time all day and walk to the bar directly across the street. It is about 200 square feet, but they are playing edm and they have buckets of Jager. For 300 Danish Kroner, this bar will pour an entire bottle of Jager, 4 Red Bulls, and a two pound bag of ice into a bucket. They garnish with 12 straws and tell you to have fun.

Ha.

These motherfuckers don't even know. It's my time to shine.

Halfway through the first bucket, people were dropping like flies. A gay Danish man wearing sparkles was asking me to dance to Calvin Harris tunes and I was halfway through my second pack of cigarettes.

After the third bucket I was begging the Scots to let me go home. I was trying to hide in the bathroom, but they kept dragging me back to the bucket.

'If you don't finish it mate, you're pouring it on your bloody head!'

At this point I preferred dancing with the gay man.

Mercifully, after bucket 3 we all came home but I was cornered by 3 drunken hostel employees doing their afterhours drinking.

'Hey mate, I heard you say you're on a tv show.'

Ya well, I work on one.

"You're an actor mate?! Someone famous is staying at Generators?"

It would have been very easy to just explain the situation and go to bed, but I just rolled with it.

"Ya, I'm a minor actor on a small network drama in the US."

DAVE THE ACTOR PAYS FOR NO DRINKS AT THE HOSTEL.

So now everyone is under the impression that I'm famous, I still can't sleep, and now I'm remembering that the Scot and I drank 4 buckets of Jagermeister. It's becoming increasingly understandable that he can't cum.

This is going to be a wild week.

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