St. Patrick’s Day

The time has come again. That one time in a year where the world goes Irish. In honor of a saint, we all raise our glasses to douse our tongues with liquor and drench out livers in alcohol. That time of the year where folk songs fill the air and we call River Dance—hopping and skipping, jumping and kicking all to a rhythm originally alien in meaning.

Walking down to my academic institution—a.k.a Skule—these scenes presented themselves in this very order:

  1. Two police vehicles parked on the street – clearly violating the rules of the G1 parking section of the Drivers’ Test.
  2. A crushed car – looked like it was in an accident – hooked up to a tow truck.
  3. People dressed in green riding in teh trunks of green trucks, playing green drums and horns, holding green balloons.
  4. My first reaction was, “What, in the name of a Saint, is going on this serene sunday morning?”.

Saint Patrick’s Day, people.

The day usually starts with a parade as such: Bands, dancers, balloons, alcohol in the mix, and to make it even more frightening, kids! By midday, the fun is all in the air and those who wake up late from going out last night must have gotten caught up in the groove. Clovers everywhere. At nighttime comes the mayhem. Lights shine brighter so people can see better, yet their vision gets more impaired. The streets become crooked to deal with the way people walk under the influence – straight roads may cause accidents. Still this remains the only that has stood the test of time. A day that holiness meets alcohol.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.
Cheiliúradh!

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