Mitch in Search of Ice

Regarding this story, I keep asking Mitch, "Are you sure you don't want to put this on your blog?" He keeps saying "no". I think he might be turning his nose up at the occasionally maintained blog. Huh.

So anyway, I'm taking it. Sux to be you, Mitchies!

We took an overnight ferry from Oslo to Copenhagen. I was grumpy again because the boat was this gigantic party boat with a lot of old people, and what I really wanted from my travel time was some quiet and a book. (I'm working on my application to the Lamest Travel Companion Society, so.)

I was reading in the cabin, making myself feel sick to the pitch and roll of the North Sea, and Mitch slipped out to get us a surprise night cap. He got some Bailey's from the duty free store and asked the cashier if there was a place to get some ice.

"Ice? No, I'm afraid that is not very popular. You could go to the bar? No harm in asking."

Ice does nothing for Europeans.

Mitch walked to the bar, where they had ice, but he was thinking that they would make him pay for a cup of it.

Mitch: "Hi, I have kind of a weird request. My wife has hit her head on the on the bed and she has a bump. She asked me to get her a cup of ice to put on it. We have a bag we can put it in."

Bartender: "Oh! Is she okay? I can call for medical attention."

Mitch: "Yes, yes. She just wants a cup of ice."

Bartender: "Since you've brought it to my attention, I need to report it. I can call for help. They will bring her ice."

Mitch started walking away, saying, "Don't worry, I'll go tell them. I'll go to the desk."

We didn't drink our Bailey's that night. Having it warm would not be the same. I'm sipping on it now at Zach and Brittany's apartment, and like good Americans, they've provided me with ice.

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