I turned the corner just in time to see my Nitelink struggle off into the night. If I'd just resisted the urge to turn back to make an attempt at convincing people to visit Scotland, I'd have been grand, and none of the drama would have happened on my watch. Yet I did, and it did.
I had half an hour to kill before the next 66N arrived to ferry folk back Lucan-way so I decided to re-acquaint myself with my city. It's been a solid year and a bit since I have wandered the streets of Dublin. Since I've really taken in this city. And in the 25 minutes that I moseyed, I learned something- I'm fucking ashamed of Dublin.
Anybody who has had the (mis)fortune of getting to know me since I moved to Edinburgh will be able to tell you that I wax lyrical about the city of my blood. I am a ridiculously proud son of Dublin. I do not shut up about Ireland. Still, tonight I got to truly have a look at it for more or less the first time since putting some time and distance between myself and this fair city. And what I realised is that this is not how it should be
What the fuck, Dublin? I wandered a post-apocalyptic, societal graveyard tonight. I strolled, mouth agape, through Grafton, South William, Dame and Westmoreland Street with no feeling stronger than shame. It was a landscape bereft of intelligence, pride or class. And by the time I had weaved back around to my stop, I had the dubious honour of witnessing a guy get into a shouting match with a girl that consisted entirely of the following exchange, on repeat:
"Fucking 18 year olds!"
"You, ya fuckin' cunt! Bet your mickey doesn't even work!"
It only broke when he took a swing at her, merely to succeed in dropping his Subway sandwich. As if struck by immaculately timed amnesia, upon reclaiming his late night meal, he simply turned, unzipped and proceeded to take a mammoth slash on the tyre of the bus that had just pulled into position. Fair to say his mickey had minor function at least so.
It was at this point that the fella to my left brought a small token of my faith in this city back to the fore.
"If you're waiting on the 66, I've been here a few minutes, and I'm pretty sure it's left about ten minutes early. Fair to say we're fucked, so."
We traded verdicts on the sights before our eyes, bonding over a shared discovery of shame for our city, right up until he was overcome by his own Subway desire. That sandwich had looked damn appealing, it's true.
"Catch you in five, if you haven't been stabbed."
Bored off my arse and overloaded with disgust, I approached the clique of drivers gathered by the bus for a sneaky smoke.
"Are you leaving at 4? Yeah? Grand so. What happened to the 3.30?"
"We're hourly now."
And so the next 20 minutes ticked by in the cold. My new buddy returned clutching his sandwich and we boarded the chariot of the people. We parted on the following:
"You're choosing downstairs? I'm going up. Gonna brave the belly of the beast, see what lurks. Have a good one."
Thought I'd chosen the safer, quieter option on the lower deck. I was fucking wrong.
"That's €5.70. She's got a disability. Seriously? You're a fucking cunt! I'LL NAIL YOU TO THE FUCKING CROSS! I'M GOING TO WRITE TO BERTIE AHERN! BERTIE WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS! TO THE FUCKING CROSS!"
It's worth noting that the mad-haired bint trying to invoke the threat of correspondence with an ex-Taoiseach was attempting to pay the way for two people that would actually come to a total cost of €12 (side-note: are you fucking kidding me, Dublin Bus?). Still, she was off her rocker, trying to underpay and ranting at a driver who was just doing his job.
Now, in the midst of the overwhelming pit of shame that had consumed me regarding Dublin's descent into debauched disgrace, this is when the scraps of Dublin's redemption sprung to the fore. An entire bus brought together in shared irritation at this woman's loud, unjustified rant. She was jeered, heckled and whistled up to the top deck. Then emerged two further drivers. The lights dimmed. Our lad emerged from behind his steering wheel:
"She's a fuckin' lunatic, yeah? How many witnesses do I have. Five. Six. Seven?"
My hand shot up in an instant. And with that, the two auxiliaries disappeared upstairs to remove the wench from the bus. A light cheer broke, as I shared a laugh with the lad who'd sat down in front of me.
How could I have known that I had just "bonded" with the fucking enemy.
Joined at the last second before departure by a wild-haired woman of forty years, I took notice of how the dude in front took great joy of turning to me and making snide remarks. He'd situated himself beside an attractive Spanish girl (from Barcelona to be precise) and was peacocking like a motherfucker. Anything he could do to catch this girl's interest was fair game. It only aided his cause that the girl who had joined me was in fact the friend of the nutcase removed from the floor moments earlier.
Great joy he took in glancing back at me as she made conversation with me regarding her friend's plight. I was polite, yet mostly monosyllabic. I was not in the mood for conversation. Still, I was drawn in by the gobshite in front's desperation:
"Is he your friend?"
"Everyone's my friend. Me and him, we bonded."
Like shite we did, you fuckwit.
I watched in stunned silence as he continued to make desperate plays for the Spaniard's attention. Horrifically, she seemed to be falling for it. He mimed stupidly to make conversation.
"I am....upset *mimes tears* that you would say that to me. Upset. You know....upset."
"You mean sad?"
He extended his fist to me, expecting a fist-bump after a few comments mocking the lady to my side. Her only sin was having been associated with the twat who had been kicked off the bus before. Not her fault. He wasn't even being subtle in mocking her, nor me.
"I'm not going to fist-bump you. You've not earned a fist-bump. You can't mime for shit."
Again he turned to mock the frazzled woman to my right, and indeed me. It was at this point that I genuinely felt worse about being a Dubliner than ever before. Here was this dick-lipped cretin mocking two complete strangers to their faces because he thought they were idiots (and/or severely intoxicated) because he thought it made him look cool to some girl.
Fuck that shit.
"So, you've not had the best night then. You alright?"
No way, I was letting this woman beside me get mercilessly mocked by virtue of her association with a gobshite. She'd had a rough one, and it was her fortieth birthday. Lost her bag, her phone and (in her own words) a fair few shreds of dignity. It was only at this point i the conversation that I even pieced together the fact that she'd been the one with the "disability" argued by her ejected mate. I'm not sure what this disability may have been, but I will say there was something a bit unusual to her chat. So the last thing she needed was this fucker in front continuing to make snide comments in front.
And then we arrived at my stop. I bid farewell to the woman.
"Listen, have a good night. And, do me a favour, yeah? Call the bar up tomorrow, and see if they've found your bag or phone. It could be worth a shot."
I walked down the aisle....paused....turned and walked back to the guy from the seat in front. He reached out a fist to be bumped once more. I ignored this, while maintaining eye contact. Getting as close to him as possible without breaking my gaze, I extended my hand to the Spanish girl to shake.
"And mate, best of luck trying to trick this girl into having sex with you tonight."
The gentle ripple of applause that coursed through the downstairs of the 66N as his face dropped to the floor, and her mortification caused her to switch seats, restored slight shred of my respect for Dublin tonight. I was proud of that much.
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