Late-Night Amsterdam Encounters 3

So, there I was once again, in that same elegant venue, in the heart of Amsterdam. This time around, I'd arrived a bit earlier than usual and decided to treat myself to a lovely dinner at the restaurant of the fancy and renowned hotel while delving into my book. After a pleasant meal, I called home to greet my wife and kids, virtually kissing them goodnight. I was ready to call it a day.

Around 3 or 4 a.m., I heard an odd noise at the door—a peculiar, distinct sound:

Cleck, cleck, cleck!

It sounded like someone was trying to enter my room, but that couldn't be right. How could a reputable hotel allow two entirely unfamiliar guests to be assigned the same room? Right? I must be dreaming. Blasted pork ribs! I knew they were too heavy for dinner!

Cleck, cleck, cleck, eeeeeeeek!

Hold on a second! I wasn't expecting a fourth noise. This was no dream; there was indeed someone entering my room. But I couldn't see a thing; the room was pitch black.

Suddenly, I felt something—or someone—land directly on top of me. Literally. I let out a scream, not so much from fear, but from the pain caused by the unexpected weight on my stomach. The lights in the room flicked on, although it wasn't me who had turned them on. The illumination revealed the truth of the situation.

By my side, on the bed—or should I say, over me—stood a bride. Yes, a BRIDE, resplendent in her pristine white wedding dress. Oh, the irony! I turned my head to the other side and spotted a groom. Yes, a GROOM, clad in a sharp black tuxedo. My mind raced, torn between feeling embarrassed by the absurdity of the situation, realizing I was far from properly dressed for a wedding, and the painful aftermath of those pork ribs.

They profusely apologized, uttering a thousand "I'm sorrys", explaining that they'd been given the wrong room card by the reception. I couldn't help it—I burst into laughter. I just couldn't help myself.

The bride rose from the bed, and together, they left the room. As they were departing, a thought crossed my mind: maybe I should say something to the newlyweds.

"Congratulations on your wedding!" I called out.

The door closed behind them. I switched off the lights. In the silence of that moment, my mind raced with thousands of thoughts, but one thing stood out—I was part of a story that would be passed down through the generations, a story to be told and retold with hearty laughs.

The following day, I visited the hotel's reception desk to recount the surreal situation. After sharing a good laugh, they offered their apologies, saying, "I'm sorry, sir. The system might have made a mistake. It won't happen again."

Ah, yes, always blame the system! I returned to my room, still chuckling at the unforgettable bridal landing that had graced my night.