On this week’s Going Dutch, Denis Leary tries to fire one of the show’s only so-called Dutch characters but runs into Dutch labour laws. No B-plot, it’s just this nonsense.
On Animal Control, a double bisexual reach-around break-up, and a secret party.
Let’s get on with it.
Dutch Notes
- We open on Leary walking out of his office and encountering the Dutch civilian workers of the base “doin’ nothin’,” which we are told by Captain Daughter “is the Dutch art form of niksen, which is the art of doing nothing.” We do not consider doing nothing an art form, but we are, as cultures go, better than I feel like Americans are at maintaining a healthy work-life balance. Leary immediately declares this a virus, because he’s a giant baby American man.
- Papadakis, ever the show’s guiding light of normality1I say this utterly sincerely., has a healthy approach to this concept, and calls it “just the mental health break I needed.” Good for you, man.
- Leary throws both his usual tantrum and Papadakis’ hacky sack, because he’s a giant baby American man.
- There is pushback to Leary’s behaviour — Danny Pudi clearly thinks the idea of changing an entire country’s style of work ethic is silly, Captain Daughter says “Not every place should be American.”
- It took Leary eight episodes to run into people doing nothing? In the Netherlands???
- This brings us to the main plot: Main character Jan, the base’s primary translator, is caught, gasp, shock, hula-hooping. When he says something about Leary’s “aura,” Leary accuses him of being high, Jan clarifies that he was high at a rave the night before, and Leary fires him.
- Leary is excited to get to fire Jan, and says “This must be what it feels like to do cocaine” after he shouts the current fascist American president’s former TV catchphrase at a local queer person.
- Leary is told he can’t do this, because, in Captain Daughter’s words, “all Dutch citizens employed for over three years are basically tenured.” With a good enough reason you can fire somebody, but yeah, this is basically true.2Here are some government websites you could read on this subject if you want to: A page on contract employment generally, and one on dismissal procedures.
- “Look at them enjoying the sun like absolute psychos.” It’s lines like this that make me wonder whose side the show wants the audience to be on.
- Danny Pudi has “pulled an all-nighter and an all-afternooner,” because work-life balance is forbidden magic to the Americans, “to become an expert in Dutch labour law.” He tells it’s “almost impossible to fire someone in the Netherlands,” and that “even a substandard employee gets three strikes.” Untrue. Though “three strikes and you’re out” is apparently not an uncommon policy in individual companies’ employee guidelines, and dismissal through such a policy is possible under certain circumstances, invoking that policy “can never by itself constitute grounds for a valid dismissal with immediate effect.”3I’m just gonna start doing proper citations.4Vermeulen, K. (2024, December 18). Three-strikes-and-you’re-out policy – GMW lawyers. GMW Lawyers. https://www.gmw.nl/en/blog/three-strikes-and-youre-out-policy/
- “Then I can fire his Dutch ass?” “You actually have to hire a mediator.” Untrue. Though there are circumstances where the services of a mediator may need to be employed to get to a version of the desired result that actually complies with the laws protecting an employee, and your employer is required to provide one when you ask, it’s generally kind of a last resort.5Ministry of Social Affairs and Employment, SZW. (n.d.). Dismissing an employee in case of a labour dispute. business.gov.nl. https://business.gov.nl/staff/dismissing-staff/dismissing-an-employee-in-case-of-a-labour-dispute/
- “Wait ’til you hear how many sick days they get. Unlimited.” “I thought that was a typo.” Basically true, though it’s less “Sick days: Infinity symbol,” which is once again the most aggressively American way to present this, and more, if you can’t work because you’re sick, and you’re out of the running for more than about a week or two, a whole process kicks off, as part of which the company you work for is obligated to pay 70% of your normal wages for up to two years of your illness, at which point, if reintegration hasn’t proven possible, they may terminate your employment contract.6Netherlands Enterprise Agency, RVO. (n.d.). Sick pay: continued payment of wages. business.gov.nl. https://business.gov.nl/regulation/sick-pay/ Individual organisations may have policies dictating certain things, but there is no legal “amount of sick days,” which is a nonsense concept. Do they just want you to come in? Madness.
- Danny Pudi, when asked how many sick days he took last year: “Zero, yeah, I love America and DayQuil.” Deeply diseased nation.
- “How many days off do these Dutch deadbeats need? I mean, don’t they know nothing is more important than work?” Deeply, deeply diseased nation.
- “Let’s remember, work is the engine that keeps our nation running,” he says, once again forgetting he’s not IN his nation, “and I’m not gonna let these Dutch lay-abouts rub their stinky cheese all over that.” What does cheese even have to DO with this, dude.
- Anyway. They’ve determined Jan is on his second strike — his first strike being when he “turned a supply closet into his own personal steam room.” What? (And why are we shown this flashback in grainy VHS-o-vision?)
- Two days later, Jan gets into a minor vehicular collision, running into an American soldier on his bike. Even though everyone is fine, this is deemed his third strike by Denis Leary, who sees this happen through his binoculars and declares, “You just ran over an American soldier. Strike three. Got you, bitch.” Deeply unhealthy way of working. Deeply unhealthy way of engaging with your employees.
- Another two days later, the dining facility has been turned into a courtroom, and “the Trial of Jan” begins. It’s all so big and broad and dramatic, a million miles removed from reality. This would play out in quiet meeting rooms with various representatives and such present, not in a big trial in front of everyone. Do Americans typically get fired by means of judicial proceedings? No, right?
- Walking into the trial is Hendrik, Jan’s mediator, who immediately thinks he must be in the wrong room. Danny Pudi informs him, oh, no, you’re right on time, because you’re gonna be the judge. This is not how anything works. (Hendrik is a big, burly, bearded man with long blond hair, clearly, from his accent, not played by a Dutch actor.)
- Hendrik agrees this is fucking insane, asking “why do you have an audience?” Denis Leary cheerfully tells him, “You can’t really have a courtroom trial without some murmuring, you know? […] I thought we’d jazz it up with a little American razzmatazz, you know?”
- Obviously all of this is sitcom. Obviously all of this is heightened. That’s the source of a lot of comedy. Friends doesn’t get by on realistic depictions of 90s relationships alone, it exaggerates what everyone knows to make you laugh and see yourself, The Office is funny because everyone can kinda go, oh, I’ve sorta had a boss like that, and Michael Scott is so much worse. But you do need to be rooted in reality. Michael Scott can’t kill a man and get away with it. Comedy isn’t derived from this kind of wilful and, frankly, obscene, misrepresentation to the point of utter nonsense. The situation presented here should lead to a very thorough investigation of this weird American operation. Americans involved in this should get fired and sent back to the other side of the water over how Jan gets treated here. That’s too much to still be funny, it’s just concerning.
- What I’m trying to say, I think, is, I’m aware this show is aware it’s ridiculous. But the entire premise of these notes is that this show is a bad kind of ridiculous.
- Obviously all of this is sitcom. Obviously all of this is heightened. That’s the source of a lot of comedy. Friends doesn’t get by on realistic depictions of 90s relationships alone, it exaggerates what everyone knows to make you laugh and see yourself, The Office is funny because everyone can kinda go, oh, I’ve sorta had a boss like that, and Michael Scott is so much worse. But you do need to be rooted in reality. Michael Scott can’t kill a man and get away with it. Comedy isn’t derived from this kind of wilful and, frankly, obscene, misrepresentation to the point of utter nonsense. The situation presented here should lead to a very thorough investigation of this weird American operation. Americans involved in this should get fired and sent back to the other side of the water over how Jan gets treated here. That’s too much to still be funny, it’s just concerning.
- Hendrik agrees this is fucking insane, asking “why do you have an audience?” Denis Leary cheerfully tells him, “You can’t really have a courtroom trial without some murmuring, you know? […] I thought we’d jazz it up with a little American razzmatazz, you know?”
- Anyway. I’m five minutes and 1300 words in. The Trial of Jan.
- Leary starts about A Few Good Men. Hendrik believes the message of that movie to be about “speaking truth to power,” but Leary disagrees, “That’s not the message, the message is keeping the code reds at a distance and probably making sure you have a separate guy to handle the code reds.”
- He gets Hendrik on board by giving him an “American law hammer,” which. Look. I’m not immune to iconography. I would greatly enjoy getting to use the American law hammer. But Hendrik should not be so easily swayable. Hendrik, be better at your job.
- When Jan is late to his trial, Leary derisively calls him a “Scandinavian twink.” We are not in Scandinavia, though Jan’s actor is, of course, from Iceland. Your employer should probably not be referring to you derisively at all, never mind with a slang term that refers to both your appearance and your sexuality.
- Jan tells us he only drove his bike into the private because “he walked in front of me, flailing around without looking. […] But I can not blame him, because he has been failed by the third-world American education system. He does not know that in this country, bicycles always have the right of way.” Everyone nods at this like we all know it to be true, but again, untrue. Cyclists are like any other participant in traffic, and there are many circumstances under which a cyclist might not have right of way. I suspect this is confused about something that is true, where, in a collision between an automobile and bicycle or pedestrian the default position of the legal system is that the driver of the car was to blame. Think of it as rock-paper-scissors — the smaller one wins in court. But if I drive straight into a car, that one’s gonna be on me.
- Leary seems to think it’s an open-and-shut case because Jan admitted to running into the private, which, okay, is still not a fireable offense.
- Jan asks Captain Daughter for help because she’s the only one who can talk sense into Leary, but in his pleading, he turns to the “First they came for the” poem, which is just, for fuck’s sake.
- “Ladies and gentlemen,” Leary announces to the court room’s audience of other local workers whose attendance was declared mandatory, “I think it’s time for you to say goodbye to your families, because I’m about to introduce a concept that we call in America, overtime.” A second ago it seemed open-and-shut, we’ve been here for 3 minutes. These working conditions are hostile beyond belief.
- Jan’s pleas include a reference to “tiny little Dutch children in tiny little wooden shoes,” which, fuck off.
- Everyone takes this trial completely seriously and at face value, which it does not deserve. Community was totally aware of how ridiculous its trial episode was, remember that? Great episode.
- When asked what his last name is, Jan replies “It’s one of life’s little mysteries, isn’t it.” Way to go, Jan, define yourself.
- See, Papadakis gets it. “Captain, I would like to formally join your law firm. This trial seems fun as hell, and you know I love committing to the bit.” Papadakis needs to be this show’s POV character.
- “This is an open and shut case.” So why declare overtime.
- “There are only two witnesses to the crime, the perpetrator and the victim.” Denis Leary, you personally witnessed the moment immediately after the incident.
- Leary hands Jan a file containing two documents, two separate requests for paternity leave filed four months apart. Guess what, Jan turns out to be in a polycule, he had a kid with his wife and then his wife’s girlfriend had a kid with her own boyfriend, extremely easy stuff to deduce on your own. This, of course, gets dismissed by Leary as, “Who is this guy? Got his own Manson Family?” because Americans fundamentally can’t believe in anything outside of the norm as anything but deviant. I dunno that polycules are super common here, but, like, come on, man, they’re a thing everywhere.
- “It is possible for you to lawfully take two paternity leaves within six months.” Technically true, though article 4:2a of the Wet arbeid en zorg provides this option only as a second leave after the birth of the same child. 7Artikel 4:2a Wet arbeid en zorg Dutch law does not, to the best of my knowledge, make any kind of real accommodation to polycules.
- More shaming of pretty normal modern sexual attitudes. Get over yourself. Go to therapy.
- The private is on the stand. Papadakis uncovers that the private is lying, and that Conway was also there — because they were filming a TikTok, and that the private is a minor celebrity known as Leather Pants Man in Malaysia. He’s advertising a Malaysian soda that has nicotine in it. This should… surely be considered a SecOps breach, filming on the base like that, and is it normal for active military personnel to be spokespeople for foreign snack foods that would be illegal in the US? It doesn’t matter, nobody cares about any of that.
- Because TikTok, they now have video evidence of what is, again, not really a fireable offense.
- Leary declares, “Once we win this case, we’re gonna take Stroopsdorf right back to the days when work came number one,” because everything has to be culture war. This is the exact kind of mindset that made people read the Johnny Depp trial as a victory for the pro-bigotry movement, the exact mindset that briefly had young men yelling “Your body, my choice.” It’s complete nonsense.
- “Working that hard caused my separation,” says Pudi, “You know, my wife actually named you in our divorce.” “I know, I thought that was really nice of her.” This should be a point where Leary realises all work and no play has ruined his life and the lives of those around him, but it won’t be.
- “It’s not looking super good for Jan,” says Hendrik. BASED ON WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER.
- One of Jan’s kids is in weird traditional dress, while his wife, girlfriend, and other kid are dressed pretty normally. Though the girlfriend does wear an unnecessary number of belts, but that’s not that weird.
- Danny Pudi decides to help the Jan side because of the divorce thing, and tells her to “follow the money,” because there’s too many minutes left in the episode for him to say anything out loud.
- Having run out of options, Captain Daughter calls her father, Denis Leary, to the stand. “Calling your dad to the stand could have, like, real consequences,” warns Conway, because this is so serious a situation that would hold up in front of any figure ranked above them at all. Captain Daughter asks Conway to get her some financial documents, and because they’re having this conversation outside, Conway takes one of the communal bikes the base has, which she notes “are getting real janky.” The moral of this story is to take better care of your bikes.
- “Sir, would you prefer [Jan] worked non-stop and became a terrible father, like, say, you?” Nobody will learn anything from this.
- Conway returns with the financial document, finding that the budget for bicycle repair has been slashed from €20k to €0, which means the real perpetrator of the private’s injuries is Leary’s “very American budget cuts on this Dutch base.”
- I’m getting caught up in this nonsense, and it is nonsense, because either way you wouldn’t be allowed to fire Jan over this, and even after acquitting him of this non-crime, the three-strike system still wouldn’t exist.
- She presents Leary with Jan’s bike and tells him to ride it without crashing. Pretty sure Leary can’t actually ride a bike, so who we see instantly crash into a hedge is a stunt double.
- Hendrik the mediator declares Jan innocent “of this third strike,” and that his employment will “continue indefinitely.” Hurray?
- Consider, though: Would Jan actually crash this bike? Or would he, like the red-blooded Dutch man he apparently is, simply put his feet down way before hitting the private? No attempt is even made. It’s almost like he’s some kind of… Icelander.
- The moral of the story actually does appear to be to take better care of your bikes.
