Sunday, July 03, 2005

Oh Danny Boy

In an attempt to get a taste of the local culture, Rich and I took the Irish airline, Aer Lingus, on our flight to Dublin. I decided to go into the trip without any preconceived notions about Irish people, even though everything I'd read and seen about them portrayed them as drunken louts.

The first thing I noticed when Rich and I boarded the plane was that there were no seats, or at least seats in the traditional sense of airplane seats. Instead, the entire interior of the plane was a giant pub, with stools and a long bar stocked with Guinness and Jameson Irish Whiskey. While Rich flipped through an Irish Accent-Proper English dictionary, I decided I'd try to mix with the natives and found myself a seat at the bar just as the plane was taking off. When we reached cruising altitude about 10 minutes later, a gruff Irishman finally sat next to me. The following interaction took place:

Irishman: What's yer name, mate?
Me: Dan Berger.
Irishman: Ah, a Hee-brew are ya? No matter, me name's Seamus O'Reilly. Nice to meet ya. (to bartender) A pint for Dan, and ten pints and 5 shooters of whiskey for me.
(Bartender does not think this order to be oddly large, and pours the drinks)

[10 minutes later]
(I am half-way done with my pint, Seamus has finished all of his drinks)

Seamus (slurring words now): Hey Benjamin Disraeli, are you finishing that pint?
Me: Are, are you talking to me?
Seamus: So it's a fight ye want? Well then it's a fight ye'll get!
(Seamus pulls up his sleeves and puts up fisticuffs, and at this point looks like the Notre Dame mascot)
Me: Jesus, just take the rest of the pint, you crazy fuck. Here (handing the pint glass to Seamus)
Seamus: It's too late for that, Netanyahu, we're fixin' ta brawl!
Me: Really, I don't want to fight you.
Seamus (speaking to everyone else on flight, who are mostly American): GO ON! Who's man enough to fight an O'REILLY?!
(No one answers him)
(Enter a Fat Irish Woman)
Fat Irish Woman: Seamus O'Reilly!
Seamus: Aww Mary, what is it this time, ya wench?
Mary: Ya need ta get back to the cockpit, Seamus. The auto-pilot can't handle this turbulence.
Seamus: I'm drinkin' and brawlin', I've no time for flyin'. Last chance, who's gonna fight me?
(No one responds)
Seamus: Then aye must defend me honor the only way aye can.
(Seamus breaks a glass bottle over his head, and passes out)
(Panic ensues)

Mary then attempted to call each of her 29 children, aged 1-8, for advice. But all of them were too hammered at various pubs to speak coherently. Fortunately, Rich had learned how to fly a plane from his days as my assistant, and we landed safely.

1 comment:

Nostradamus said...

Hope you guys have fun in Dublin. I'm afraid you'll find it as expensive as Paris in many ways and perhaps not quite as culturally edifying. Nevertheless, it will inevitably bring you to a deeper understanding of that would-be-Irishman, our blogging friend/nemesis Finnegan. (Don't worry Finnegan, I say that in the same spirit intended in the name of the Hartford based Friends and Enemies of Wallace Stevens. I think.)