Copperface Jacks

Another day, another night. Starts off at The Barge where I make new friends. Frank is a Czech and he has long hair at the back of his head while the sides are shaved. A bit strange looking, but a nice guy, nonetheless. Charlie is a chef at the Merrion. Both of them like Indian food and we start talking about how to make curries. I realize that I have to learn to cook more. It's such a great conversation starter. I make one observation though : Only men want to talk about Indian food and how to cook it. The women couldn't care less. Thankfully, I wear a ring on my finger that makes this irrelevant. If not, I would have had to get a new skill. One drink
leads to more. It's strange how one drink is sufficient but three is always too less. We get a call for last drinks - I can't believe that pubs close this early in Dublin and mention it to Frank. He disagrees and takes me to the Copperface Jacks.

Copperface Jacks is something else. It's just Frank and I now - his girlfriend has decided that she has had enough and heads home. We are stopped at the door by two gentlemen - I use the word loosely - who are as wide as they are tall. They tower over me and ask if Frank and I are together. "Do I look like I like Ugly?" I ask him. Two girls walk up to the door and the doormen now ask me if we are all together. I glance at the girls and reply "Same answer". They don't like me but let us in anyways. It's five bucks to enter and the music assaults your ears as you step in. We get ourselves drinks and Frank takes me upstairs. The music is a bit softer here but the dance floor is still packed. I look around and realize that this is not a night club but a meat market. I find a dark corner by an ATM to stand and watch people make utter fools of themselves. Frank has disappeared into the mass of bodies and I occasionally catch a glimpse of him dancing. He does come back regularly though to get me a drink. All of a sudden I realize that there is something moving
behind the ATM machine. At first, I think that someone is trying to break into it but on closer investigation, it turns out to be a slightly overweight girl who has fallen down and is floundering like a beached whale, unable to get up again. She is holding her stilletoes in one hand and this doesn't help any. I offer her a hand and pull her up. She is heavy but staggers up. I find that she is hardly able to stand so I prop her against the ATM machine. She survives about 3 minutes before collapsing on her back again. I give her a hand again and she manages to stay up a bit longer before going down. I am despairing by now and look around but everyone else is oblivious to my plight in their drunken stupor. I pull her up again and decide to take her to a couch that I spot nearby. As I help her into the couch, her friends descend on me. You're wasting your time, one of them tells me, she's a lesbian and is here with her girlfriend. Some friend, I retort! But I'm glad to hand the whale back to it's owners. I need more weight training if I want to be doing this.

I retreat back to my corner where another group assails me. They have been to India and want to know details. I make up answers to their questions but it keeps them happy. It's time to go and I find Frank. We step outside to a bunch of people squatting on the sidewalk, some in their own vomit. Frank wants a cigarette and asks someone for a light. They accuse him of being gay. He says no, he has a girlfriend. They say something nasty that I cannot put down in print. Frank turns to walk away when one of them throws a punch at him. It grazes the back of his head. I wonder about what I am about to get into as there are five of them and they look tough. All of a sudden a giant of a man appears at our side. He shoulders me aside and steps up to the group. This should even up the odds a bit, he says. The thugs back down. Cowarards, I shout- I can be very brave with ten drinks in me and a giant by my side.

I am beginning to notice a lot of subtle cultural differences. The Irish always hold their fork in their left hand. The Americans usually eat one handed with the fork in their right hand. I mention this to Terry who shares his own cross cultural experiences with me. A long time ago before the internet had taken us over and the fascimile was still the means of transmitting documents, Terry was in Spain and asked a secretary for a fax. Everybody laughed and he later found out that it Spain it means to ask for sex.

I have become friends with my cabbie, Noel. He tells that when Englis lads get into his cab and ask him to take them to a good pub, he usually takes them to George, which is a gay pub on the keys. He leaves them there with the advice to stay a while as things hot up as the night progresses. Poor lads, I wonder how long it takes them to figure it out. He tells me another story. One day he was taking two guys to the George and mentioned to one of them that he had taken him there the previous week too. The other chap immediately asks him to stop the car, jumps out and runs away. It turned out that they were a couple and that the second chap had been away on business the previous week. And he was upset that the first guy had been going out with someone else in his absence.

We decide to hit the George ourselves. It's a first for me as I have never been to a gay bar before. Ray challenges me to get someone's number while I am in there. All the men in there are so well dressed that I start to feel self concious. Their hair is slicked down, the belt and shoes are matched and they have creased dress shirts. No one pays the slightest attention to us - they can tell that we are different. I lose my bet to Ray. I steel myself and against all advise, make my way into the bathroom. I am totally ignored and this hurts my feeling. This is not at all what I excpected in a gay bar. We leave, with my self esteem having taken a huge hit. John decides that I need to see the Temple Bar area before I leave. This is the tourist section, with garish bars, loud music and even louder music. We meet a Little Indian and her friend, who is a tall and leggy girl, a welcome change from the dowdy dressers at George. the last stop is the Baggot's Inn and John and Trasy have to leave. They have a family to go back to. Ray and I do not, and so we continue. The bar closes but Ray is very influential and continues to get us drinks until they clean up.

John picks me up from my hotel around noon the next day and we head to the Guiness brewary. It's quite a distance and so we stop at the Brazen Head for a pint or two. This is Dublin's oldest pub and is more than two hundred years old. The brewary itself is massive, consisting of seven floors of displays and culminating in the Gravity bar on the seventh floor. The whole floor is lined in glass all around giving us panoramic views of Dublin city. We have out glass of Guiness and saunter across the street to the Jameison's brewary. A pretty guide takes us through the paces of how to make a good whiskey emphasizing on why Jameison is better than all else. John lies to her that it is my birthday and she picks me to be one of eight official whiskey tasters. We get shot glasses of Johnny Walker Black, Jameison and Jack Daniels. The Jameison does taste better though this may be due to the copious amounts that I have consumed in the last two weeks. After this, we get our customary glass of Jameison. We then head out to dinner with the family. Ray is also there
but is exceptionally quiet - maybe it's the company he keeps; it's hard to find words when you are staring into such beautiful eyes.

After dinner to the Harry Byrne where M&M are still making their movies. I get back to the hotel at 2 AM and ask for a 3AM wake up call. I am up by 3:30 and am taking it easy as I think I have a lot of time. I look at the clock on my computer and suddenly realize that it is an hour later - Ireland springs forward on that day and I forgot to set my cell phone forward. I hurry through a shower then find that the safe is locked shut - with my passport inside. Hulk from the front desk arrives with a key but is unable to open it. He leaves to call for help and I take over. By a combination of good luck and brute force I manage to get the safe open. I grab my passport and run out and into the waiting cab. I make the flight with ten minutes to spare. Whew - it's been a hell of a trip.