Monday: The New Fun Day

Something metal hammers against my third floor bedroom window. A mysterious whip created out of a bed sheet and bicycle lock swings away and clanks back into the glass. My curiosity outweighs my fear as I cautiously peek out the threshold of the window. A stranger’s head peers out the window above mine. Felix, a dark haired twenty-something Irish student, glows with pride at the success of his apparent knocking device. He disregards the oddity of the exchange and instead insists I come out for the craic (pronounced crack) with him and his lads. After reassurance that he is not offering me illicit substances, (craic is Gaelic for fun) I throw on a dress and head for the door.
We hustle as fast as a group of twenty or more can toward the bus stop. Bursts of laughter and “where are we goings?!” interrupt the clamor of ambiguous chatter. Felix explains that, in theory, buses stop running at 11:30, but in Dublin, timetables are more approximations rather than viable commuter resources. It was 12:10 AM.
After waiting an uncertain fifteen minutes, the bus arises from behind the hill. We pile in by the twos and threes, some seizing the commotion as an opportunity to skip out on their fare. I toss my coins into the fare machine and declare “O’Connell Street” to the impatient driver over the boom of fifty feet pounding up the steps to the second level of the bus. The bus ride provides a new venue for our temporarily mobile soiree. I plop down amidst a group of girls. One digs deep into her bag to unbury a six pack of Irish Cider. She offers me one and laughs at what must be my reluctant looking expression. “Welcome to Europe.” She smiles. Stateside, this sort of behavior typically ends in incarceration. Halleluiah, Ireland! The bus erupts in a chortled bellowing of the Star Spangled Banner. Through the pandemonium I spy Felix at the helm, directing the choir. He flashes a teasing smile. All previous standards on Monday night fun have just been set much, much higher.