oranje - recent posts from my current home

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Saint Patrick, patron saint of the inebriated

Saint Patrick's day in da 'burgh.

How could I have forgotten? Why didn't I just stay home last night?

I went to a fundraiser for the Hill House after work yesterday, Sugar and Soul at the Carnegie Music Hall. Good food, great auction, fabulous music. A beautiful and enjoyable evening.

I should have known when I bussed over to Oakland from Lawrenceville to make the evening short. I don't drive (a whole other story) so I am completely at the mercy of the public transportation system. I had to transfer in downtown, usually dead on Saturday evenings. Well, the bus to Oakland was packed with student revelers. Standing room only on a Saturday night. I did mention Saint Patrick's day, right? Well, nearly everybody on the bus was wearing green, the Irish and the honorary Irish.

Got off the bus at the museum, had a wonderful time at the fundraiser, went to the bus stop to head on home.

That's where things got a lot weird.

The bus was late. I waited for over forty minutes. Wearing a white coat. When the 54C finally came around the corner, I was so ready. And if the people on the bus hadn't shouted at the driver, I probably would have ended up waiting another forty minutes. That's right, she nearly passed me by. Did I mention I was wearing A WHITE COAT?

So it's 11pm, and the bus is packed. Oh yeah, Saint Patrick's day. There was a crowd of inebriated students in the back of the bus. revelry was high, people were laughing and talking. Some kind man made room for me and I settled in for the twenty minute bus ride. On Centre, a man gets on the bus, swaying as he showed his pass. His face lit up when he saw all the kids in green. He shouted down the entire length of the bus Hey! Happy Saint Patrick's day, mutha fuckas, and off he went, to the welcome shouts of the students in the back of the bus. You could here him trying to score with one of the young women, clearly trying to put the make on her.

Hey, you know my wife left me, hey, why don't you come to my house and we'll party all night, c'mon baby.

I mean, endless. But at least he was funny.

Not like the dude who spilled his bag of toiletries around his seat. Who in the process of gathering them just before his stop ended up with his head in my lap, reaching around my feet.

I have never been so happy to be on foot in my life as when I got off the 54C on Penn Avenue.

Next year, I'm either staying home or I'm gonna get totally tanked and join the party. I haven't decided.


Lisa Hunter said...

I sympathize. I used to enjoy Saint Patrick's day, until I moved into an apartment next door to an Irish pub. Going out your door and stepping over green vomit takes the bloom off the shamrock.

Susan Constanse said...

Oh isshhh!
We encountered a lot of that stuff when ,y husband and I were living in downtown Portland. I'm not as used to this anymore.