St. Patrick’s Day.
Not like I need an excuse to drink but any reason to get together with friends and be around Cleveland is good enough for me. This year the 216 was beautiful. The sun was shining. The temperature was nicely in the 60’s. There was the parade. Downtown was filled with people. I was with good friends. I got fondled on the bus—
You read that right. We decided the best way to tackle getting to the parade was the RTA. Of course we weren’t the only ones to think of this—nor did we think we were. We boarded the first bus. It was a tight fit.
The middle doors opened and there was just one mass of arms, legs everywhere. The front was better and we at least were able to walk in without pushing people. This wouldn’t be the case with other passengers and other buses.
One stop (maybe 2?) people looking to get on included 2 people in wheelchairs. The whole front was filled. Those in the seats where the wheelchairs would need to get up. They did so with no fuss. Those of us in the front got off the bus so the driver would have room to work. As we waited we decided it might be best to catch the next bus.
And then that bus came and it was way worse. We managed to get on without pushing or hitting or making too many uncomfortable. The next stops people didn’t just pile on, they torpedoed their way on. These new riders shoved bodies every which way to get on. They of course than proceeded to complain the rest of the way that it was too packed.
We were crushed against everyone. It slowly began to get hot and stinky. Somewhere along the way a hand shot out from the crowd and fondled me. This hand didn’t just grab my chest but rubbed it before vanishing.
I won’t spend time on the parade. Just a brief list:
Old people waving.
Old people not waving.
Kids looking bored.
Idiots in the crowd.
Drunk girl needing two people to help her walk at 4pm.
Baby getting beer spilled on it.
We did make a stop at Erie Island Coffee Co. over on East 4th. It was my first time there. I was thoroughly amused how strict they were about making sure you only used the restroom after purchasing something. I get why. I do. I don’t even have a problem with the thought (especially on a day where so many people would be out there) but still thought it was funny. They were barking it at anyone who even seemed remotely to be headed that way.
I got a chai frappe and it was delicious.
Back on the bus—this time a bit less packed. We made our way to Parnell’s Pub, because there really is nowhere else you should celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. I mean you should go there year round but they are authentic Irish. Good times as always.
After I got a real nice buzz (bordering on nicely drunk) this happened:
I walked on over to the men’s room and opened it to find a very short haired woman wiping her hands. I said “oh” and closed the door. In my head I was thinking damn am I so drunk that I just tried to go in the ladies room? They are directly opposite from one another. As I contemplated this she opened the door.
Intruder: No you were right this is the men’s room.
Me (said with a curious ah ha tone): You’re a (came out more Youra) woman, woman.
Intruder: Yeah. I just used the men’s room—
Me: A woman!
Intruder: Oh and I kinda stopped up the toilet so I hope you don’t have to sit down.
Me: Because youra woman.
She leaves and I enter. I of course look down at the toilet before heading over to the urinal. The water was swirling closer to the edge and what was floating in there but a tampon.
Me (to the empty room in a Seinfeld voice): Woman!