Pizza In My Purse

To clarify, you really shouldn’t slap the stupid people. Violence is never the answer (except sometimes).

In other news, let’s fast forward through my week of learning my way around city centre, sending out tons of requests for housing, and watching copious amounts of Buffy. Friday was orientation day, and, surprisingly, was also the first day that I set foot on the campus. Orientation was mainly boring (you would think that people who had already attended college would know simple things like this), although there were a few interesting resources that were pointed out (and could have just as easily been typed up in a nice email). It was, however, apparent that the people sitting directly behind me (I was there first, I swear) were the ones that were in desperate need of hearing the orientation. And, of course, they were the ones who were constantly talking with each other. I took advantage of a break to move away from the noisy students from Southern California.

It was during one of these breaks that I met Brie, who essentially walked up to me and said “Hi, I need friends. Do you need friends too?” Brie had seen a notice for a girl who was looking for other girls to share a house, and I snapped a picture of the notice. During the next session, I emailed her and inquired. Moments like these affirm that I really did need to get the data plan for my phone.

Brie and I were walking to the cafe to get lunch when Brie chose to turn to another girl walking near us and introduce herself in roughly the exact same manner that she had introduced herself to me. The new girl’s name was Tiana, but she was quickly called away. As she turned away, another girl turned toward us and said “I’m looking for friends, too.” I looked at her, and she looked friendly enough. She was wearing a bright pink coat and had strawberry red hair. I would have thought her hair color was natural, but her light blue eyes constantly moved, as if they were scanning people–nystagmus. I recognized it, because when I was younger, I was friends with a girl who had albinism, and her eyes tracked in the same manner.

The more we talked, the more I liked her. Her name is Christy, and we had lunch together. We found out during lunch that Irish people basically don’t salt things, so if you want salt on your potato wedges, you need to put it there. Christy had recently arrived and needed to get a SIM card for her phone. Since we had a little over two hours for our lunch, we headed out to city centre to take care of her phone, and then, on our way back, we stopped to relax at Insomnia’s with a cup of drinking chocolate.

Oh, yes. During my week of wanderings, I had finally located the Insomnia’s. It was in an ally, and google maps really doesn’t know what to do with allies.

After orientation finished and we had a tour around campus, we briefly parted ways, and then Christy came over to my apartment so I could help her figure out her phone. It wasn’t unlocked, it turned out, and she ended up facetiming her parents to ask them to talk to AT&T and try to get it unlocked. While they were doing that, we decided we were hungry and wanted pizza for dinner. We knew we were supposed to meet the rest of our group to go to a pub later in the evening, but we wanted calories in the form of food, not beer.

This was when I learned the first major difference between Christy and myself. I will google things to death, just so I know what’s going on and do not have to ask other human beings. Christy will walk up to anyone and ask them any question, no problem. Anyway, I googled out a place to get pizza, and Christy and I headed over. The pizza place was half ice cream shop, so it was a bit confusing when you walked in. While I would have hung back and studied the room to pick up clues on how things ran, Christy simply asked (she did the same thing later when we were trying to figure out how to pay). I had left over pizza, but the place nicely wrapped it in a couple sheets of foil, so I stuck it in my purse.

We did go to the pub afterward, and found out that they were cooking burgers on a grill out back. We socialized, saw people, then went back to my apartment to see if her parents had made any progress on getting her phone unlocked before heading over to Bodega, the club that apparently was hosting our group later in the evening after the left the pub. Christy’s dad informed her that AT&T would unlock her phone, but it would take 24 hours to go into effect (fun fact: including being on hold, Verizon got my phone unlocked in five minutes). So, since we had quite a while before we needed to get to Bodega, we resorted to watching funny youtube videos.

At 10:30, we packed up our stuff and left, and headed to Bodega. The door man let us in, and we wandered around. When I first walked through the doors, the dust from the smoke machine hit me in the face. I used to kind of like the strange sweet smell of smoke machines, but after one malfunctioned during a last rehearsal directly before a performance, it lost its charm. The place was large, with at least three separate bars. They were clearing out tables to make room for a dance floor. We didn’t particularly want to order drinks, so we stood around a people watched for about a half hour. Girls don’t put their bags or drinks down when they dance here, which was odd, and I held Christy’s stuff while she tried dancing. It didn’t really work. It isn’t that she’s a bad dancer; it was just that there wasn’t really anyone out on the floor.

Finally, after 11, we gave up and left, no sign of the rest of our group anywhere. We were about three blocks away from the club when we ran into our group. Actually, we didn’t run into them, because you could hear them. They were being typical loud, drunk Americans. Christy and I looked at each other, shrugged, then headed off to our respective apartments. If they wanted to hang out drunk at Bodega’s, they were welcome to it. We had to meet our coordinator the next morning, and at least for me, that meant getting a good night’s sleep, smoke machines not included.

I did remember to take the pizza out of my purse and put it in the fridge. Both it and the purse are fine.

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0 Responses to Pizza In My Purse

  1. Mirriam Neal says:

    I can’t tell you how much I love your blogs about life in Ireland. Thank youthankyouthankyou <3 And tell Christy I said hi.

  2. You have a friend…good for you! She sounds just perfect! 🙂

  3. IntenseGuy says:

    ” typical loud, drunk Americans.” How flattering. How many Americans do you think are attending your college?

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