Prague was good to me for a week. I had a free place to stay; I had two friends to chill with; I had no worries.

And then, Marketa came home.


Marketa is the landlady who presides over the flat that Bino and his Naughty By Norfolk friend Jordan have been renting out -- at an extortionary rate -- for the past month. She is proof that human nature is not benevolent.


"Marketa says she's gonna charge Bayless to stay here tonight."

It was early, and I was still not completely with it, but those words brought me to attention. I had been warned before that Marketa was crazy, and I had always laughed at Bino's descriptions of their encounters. But the laughter was always at someone else. Her mood swings would never affect me, thank God.

But now they had.

Jordan was the messenger, so I didn't shoot him. He had just returned from helping Marketa's nuclear physicist of a father move cases of wine from his car up to his apartment. Despite staying out until six the night before with Bino and I, Jordan had somehow managed to answer Marketa's summons at ten in the morning, as Bino and I slept peacefully. It makes sense why Jordan would do such a thing, when you consider the mantra both he and Bino live by:

"I don't wanna piss Marketa off."

They don't wanna piss Marketa off because Marketa is a psycho. Half a million bucks spent in one lifetime on blow -- and a little on syringes, as well -- will do a number on a person's moods. One minute she's incredibly nice; the other she is demanding that an inordinate amount of money be paid right now, at this moment, without any attempt to deal with the situation rationally.

Which brings me back to this morning. Marketa wants to charge me to sleep on the floor -- but she is cloaking it in a "I want him to pay me back for all the utilities he has used" disguise.

I've seen that Halloween costume before. I think they call it "Greedy McGreed Greed."

I offered ten bucks. She says that's not enough. This is not a good sign for the night I have ahead of me.

Historically, I do not deal with these types of situations very well. My first year at UVa, in a dispute over a lost swipe card that I needed to get into my dorm, I balked at having to pay $6 for a new one, when I hadn't even really lost my original (it was stolen). The fat, ear ringed dude working the key office made a snide remark about how my mommy and daddy would have to pay the six bucks at some point, whether it was now or at the end of the year. That was not the right approach to take with me.

"Fine!" I yelled. "I don't even want a swipe card then!" And I stormed out. It wasn't true what I said; I did want a swipe card. But I wanted to prove that I didn't need one. It was a test of will: Me vs. Fat Ear Ring Key Office Guy. This was in late September. School ended in May. But I got into my dorm every day, and I proved that you could do it without a swipe card.

This is just one of many stories that illustrate a major character flaw of mine: I don't like being forced to pay money to greedy people when it is unjust (don't even start on my history with cellular phone "billing centers.")

I offered $10; I was denied. So it looks like Marketa and I are locked into a stalemate.

This afternoon, when I was trying in vain to bargain down the price of a sick new winter coat at a second hand shop, I pulled "the walk out." It didn't work. I returned 30 minutes later, paid the $15, and took my coat, head bowed in shame. The jacket was just too awesome to pass up -- it has the letter 'B' stitched on the sleeve along with a pair of wings. And we all know that 'B' stands for Billy.

But I refuse to be brow-beaten two times in one day by greedy Praguers. The jacket was worth swallowing my pride; one more night at Bino and Jordan's place isn't. If I am forced to pull "the walk out" in my negotiations with Marketa, and it doesn't work, then I will just figure something out. Because I'm not caving two times in one day. I didn't need a swipe card, and I don't need Marketa's floor. Utilities, my ass. Greed.


In the week I have spent in Prague, my sleeping situation has been pretty eclectic. From a cold, hard floor to sleeping on a collection of four contiguous chairs; from the chairs to the "all the clothes in my bag" mattress; from the clothes mattress to the air mattress that Marketa brought over for me two nights ago, when I thought she was a pretty nice lady (and when she made absolutely no mention of me having to pay for using her toilet).

Now, it looks like I may be facing a return to a cold, hard floor -- in a train station. It all depends on Marketa's mood when we go home.