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Opinion

Trip to Ireland results in stolen wallet, kiss

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February 7, 2013

I made it my resolution to eat healthier foods, drink less of the drink and spend more time out of trouble. So naturally, like any hopeful New Years resolution-ist, I went to Ireland for a second time.

The journey began well enough; three ladies from the trip followed me to O’Neill’s Pub to order a scrumptious bowl of seafood chowder. In all truth, I followed them because asking for directions is not a strong suit of mine (being a man and all).

Jet-lag started to kick in, and I moseyed back to the hotel room for a nap. After dinner I went to go buy a phone card to call back home to the family.

However, after buying it, I became destitute, not because the Euro exchange is so much, but because a slippery ghost with hideous facial features and crooked teeth stole my wallet (or at least I hope the thief looked this ugly).

In Dublin, without money, what’s a guy supposed to do? Trying to keep calm, I pictured my grandmother and what she’d say in this circumstance:

“The best things in life are free, my grandson,” she said in a nasally voice.

Repeating the nasally phrase over and over again, I just couldn’t make myself believe it; obviously my grandmother had never tasted the purity and god-like-ness of Guinness. Naive woman! The best things in life cost four and a half Euros!

The realization hit me that I might have to go the entire trip in Ireland without another sip of the black. A sad fate indeed.

However, a thing, a glorious thing, saved the day, it’s name: Western Union.

Once the transaction at Western Union took place, I was pub bound.

Going up to the barman, I ordered a tall-dark-and-handsome, a Guinness black as the depths of a starry night. When two of the blacks were coursing through my veins, my courage was at an all-time high.

As I looked across the bar, a trio of lovely ladies were seated next to the window, but even with the courage in me, I was still worried about approaching them.

Inevitably, whenever attempting to talk to women in a pub, one of two things always happens: I wink at them from across the bar, then I get slapped, or I wheel over to them, smiling dumbly, and accidentally run over their feet, and then I get slapped.

Not wanting to get slapped, I wheeled over to them and two of them immediately dispersed. The one that remained glared intensely at the door on the other side of the room.

Being the absolute charmer that I am, I immediately asked for a kiss. Swing and a miss; both the attempt and her open palm to my face.

Eventually, I convinced her to give me a consolation kiss on the cheek (I told her about the wallet), but with perfect timing, I managed to swing my head around to steal an actual kiss. To be candid, I am not proud of stealing that kiss, but it was a good kiss, at least for me.

After a few more Guinness beers, I swerved left and right in my wheelchair down cobblestone streets, trying to get back to the hotel. If a wheelchair could be considered a vehicle, I’m convinced I would have been charged with a driving while inebriated.

Somehow, I ended up two miles north of the hotel, so I asked the locals for directions. After their kind assistance, I ended up three miles north of the hotel, near the Road to God.

Ireland is like that, you’ll get directions not to where you want to go, but to places that are great to fall asleep underneath for an hour or two.

Tyler Smith is a student at UW-River Falls.