Dubless in Dublin: misplaced confidence

It’s odd that in the last year, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve truly found myself in situations that jolt your system into action.  Some say that it was a near death experience that trips them into action.  Action for a better life, more fulfilling, more true.  I don’t think I’ve come close to death, at least not in any memorable way.  That said, I have recently found myself, maybe not tripping into action but, tripping into something.

In hindsight, the whole situation was rather funny.  That is, after 45 minutes of pure panic and 48 hours of being lulled into a comfort of visiting a place that was once home.  It’s been six months since last I visited Dublin, and just over a year since I lived there.  That said, I could still get you anywhere in the city and felt, as soon as the plane touched down, that I had returned home. No need to purchase an international phone plan, right?  Friend coming to pick me up from the airport, wifi when I needed it, and enough memory of the public transport system that I could get myself anywhere.

Wrong.  I should’ve known I needed to connect my phone to cell towers when I had to ask an AirCoach attendant for a hotspot (shoutout Abdul) to call Hannah (my ride) curious how I should find her, as I had stood outside telling taxis there was no need for about 15 minutes and my phone was dying (not to worry, she was just running late).  True, running late is expected.  In a weird way, a bustling city running on island time.  Not quite the Caribbean but maybe instead a f*ck you to the man.  The man being time, I guess?

Anyway, that’s when I should have gotten service.  Days later, I would find out that I actually wouldn’t be able to because I needed an SMS confirmation code not receivable on wifi to turn on the international plan.  A whole chicken or the egg situation.  I found myself in more than one of these situations lately.  On to the next.

I was meant to meet with my best friend from childhood.  She and I moved to Dublin together, she met her partner and stayed.  Me being broke and no legal reason to stay, I will have to settle for visits home.  From the rugby match and a spice bag near Grafton to the Quays, getting there wouldn’t be hard.  The last bit of a hotspot put her location exactly inside a courtyard at the Usher Quay bus stop. Perfect, I could get there in my sleep.  One last message to say I’d be about 20 minutes, knowing that if it was any more than 30 she might raise an eyebrow.

I wouldn’t want her to be worried though if it took longer.  We often are running late in Dublin and we are all well equipped to mind ourselves without too much trouble.  I hopped off the 39, remembering that Usher Quay is not a place I just want to stand around, not well lit, unhoused people looking for their next high, bumming cigs.  None of which I had on my person, making me entirely unhelpful to them, and hopefully easy to ignore while I…while I what?  Just stand and wait for my friend to come downstairs?  No public wifi and her building entrance appeared to be on the inside of the courtyard.  Oh perfect, the gate is open, some well dressed man driving out.

It is not too difficult to look inconspicuous and entirely harmless entering a courtyard that is not yours with purpose and your head high.  He hollered back saying he was leaving….okayyyy? And?  Oh, he was locking the gate.  That’s grand, my friend is coming to get me.  Don’t worry about me!  Mistake number two of the weekend.

Then set in the ‘gots-to-goes.’  I don’t know if it was me who used this term first, but I’d like to think that I have made it popular, at least singularly in my own lexicon.  Not important though.  The gots-to-goes are exactly what they sound like.  I have got to go.  I have to got to get out of here.  Survey the area, gate locked, no gaps to slip out defeating the purpose of a gate, large construction site, two fences well taller than me, apartments that I though my friend was cozy inside, a few businesses dark on a Saturday evening.  Panic is a funny thing.  I wasn’t sweating or my heart beating quickly.  Instead I imagined being found by the guards after midnight, cold and haggard.  Or even worse, Monday morning when everyone returned for work.  That was my panic, claustrophobia in a space relatively wide open.

Hands on the wrought iron gate and head poking out, I hollered for my friend.  Caught in my throat, I didn’t want to draw too much attention for those waiting at the bus stop.  Wouldn’t want to seem crazy, right?  She wasn’t there and I took two laps around the courtyard to figure out what I needed to get out of this situation.  First, a hotspot to call my friend and figure out where she was.  Second, get out of this fucking courtyard.  Or it could be the other way around.  Get out of the courtyard and find a pub to slip into for some sweet sweet free wifi.  It’s really a chicken or the egg situation.

What people don’t realize is that faced with a chicken or the egg situation in any real sense, it is hard to justify any course of action only because there is probably a better way.  But who knows, each action item are independently important but both would help achieve the other.  And rather than any thought experiment about the chicken or the egg, I am increasingly frantically pacing around the courtyard.  At the doors for the apartment building looking rather dead, the businesses in complete darkness, not even a ring camera to disturb and get someone’s attention (yes, my mind went there, but not a single way to get some security guard’s attention), to construction site looking for cameras and deciding if I could make it over both fences with my bag and long jacket, to front gate asking passersby for a hotspot.  

The number of people who walked by with little as an acknowledgement does not bode well for our future.  Some would come over and talk to me from the other side of the bars, but unsure that they wanted to share a hotspot with the crazy lady locked in a courtyard.  Fair play, pickpockets will go to crazy lengths to get your valuables these days.

Some said they didn’t know what a hotspot was. Okay, boomer.  I think the kids say unc these days.  Others sort of just walked away.  Some told me to go look into the businesses and see if anyone was there.  Like what, you take me for an idiot…???

Well unfortunately I am, I guess.  Stuck in a courtyard with no cell service, no way out, and no one interested in helping me.  Okay, one more person I will ask and then decidedly the egg did not come first.  I would have to figure out how to get out of the courtyard a different way.

The guy that finally helped me had a girl on his arm that looked completely uninterested in helping me.  Probably not a girls’ girl.  Looking slightly irritated that (presumably) her boyfriend had stopped to help, I wondered for a split second what she liked so much about him if not this lovely quality of helping a crazy woman sounding to be on the brink of tears.

His hotspot password was hallo123, thinking he ment hello123, I typed in the incorrect password twice.  Knowing that I had one more chance before he would lose interest and want to be on with his night, I locked in.  Forty five minutes stuck here was enough time to think for me.  Finally, got it and instantly messages and missed calls popping up on my phone.  With a quiet laugh and feigned casualness I remarked to my new savior, well at least she’s looking for me!

Call back. Heyyy bestie. Umm I’m in a pretty sticky situation and uhhh I need your help.  Yeah, I got a hotspot from some nice people walking by.  Umm yeah, I don’t know how else to say this but I’m locked in a courtyard and I need you to come and get me.  Great, yeah I’m grand but could you maybe hurry?  Two minutes away, great, I will send my new friend on his way.  See you soon.  Oh and yeah, look for the big black gate.  I’ll be there.

I thanked this new friend profusely and sent him on his way, his girlfriend seemed antsy to get out of there.  I mean fair, I was locked in this courtyard, but outside were still the drug seeking unhoused folks who spent much of their time around here.

We could only laugh.  How did you get yourself here, are you okay, we live three blocks away, what do you think we should do?  All questions from my bestie and her boyfriend.

I was confident this was your building, context clues from past FaceTime calls would suggest not though.  Yes, I only realized that after the padlock clicked shut.  Um fine is a pretty relative term I’d say, certainly happy to see you both.  Fucking maps, eircode and all, still couldn’t get me to the right place.  I need you to walk around this block and look back through the construction site.  Tell me if you think I could make it.  Oh, and can you take my bag?  I have a laptop, water bottle, and book in there.  If I can make it, I really don’t want to bring this with me.

Emptying the contents of my bag into the arms of her boyfriend, I then passed the rest of the bag through the gate where they repacked it and walked around the block.  I much shorter walk for me, I turned and went to the fence taller than me to shout across.

I think you can make it, they both said.  Well, it’s either that or the guards, I replied.  No cameras, I could at least give it a shot without having video footage somewhere of me throwing myself into a construction zone in a long wool coat.

The first fence wasn’t the most sturdy fence I’ve climbed, only secured by alternating cinderblocks, I’d have to be careful as it got more wobbly as I got to the top, taller than me.  The top had some jagged edges and I knew I could get really roughed up trying to go over the top.  That is, ripping completely replaceable clothes in my attempt for freedom.

The fence did, in fact, wobble when I got to the top keeping my center of mass closest to the jagged edges of this fence probably meant only for a visual cue of where the public ought not to go.  Definitely not loud enough, I shouted out as I heard the sound of fabric running along a sharp edge.  60/40 shot they are ripped, but whatever.  At this point, I am just happy to have someone witness the fallout from a classic moment of strength, turned immense weakness.  Karma I guess?  An hour in the courtyard for maybe ripping a pair of jeans, fine I’ll take it.  But damn, those jeans were hot.

First fence, check.  Now I was stuck in a construction site with one way out over a gate at least twice my height.  The gate had vertical closely spaced metal beams the entire width of the gate with one diagonal small metal beam crossing half the gate.  Structural reinforcement perhaps.  It was my way out.  God damn the metal is cold.  Almost too cold to touch with hands prone to frostbite.  But WHATEVER.  I have to get over this gate.  I have an audience now and a new energy from the successful conquering of the first fence.

Okay, the diagonal beam was not going to work, too slippery and too cold.  Pile of cinderblocks next to the fence, great option.  Climbing quickly and deliberately with a giddiness you can only feel after an hour of being trapped, asking for help, being ignored, and not much idea of how else to get out.

At the top, holy shit that’s far down.  Can you spot me?  I wonder if I sounded scared.  I don’t think I was actually scared, but definitely not stoked about descending on vertical metal beams too close for my foot to reach the diagonal beam crossing the inside.

Here, I’ll take my bag, thanks for holding it.  Casual, like I didn’t want it sitting on the bathroom floor of a pub.  Two feet on the ground all I could ask was, so how was your day.  Casual, like I hadn’t just been stuck in the wrong courtyard with no cell service and no solid plan of how to get out.  Better than your evening, surely.

Sure, not an ideal evening.  But a story.  A funny and ridiculous story making me laugh harder than I had in months.  Of course I got stuck here.  Some cosmic way of saying I should stay.  Saying I should find the money and a legal reason to pack a bigger bag and sign a lease next time I touch down in Terminal 2.

It’s hard not to believe in fate in stories like this. There was no reason I needed to finish the night cozy in my childhood best friend’s apartment in a place that still feels like home.  To discuss fate, though, is often heavy handed and too preachy.  We don’t want to read about moments of clarity with intervention from some higher power or knowledge of the world.  So let’s not.  It’s just another Dubless in Dublin.  Not about a date gone wrong but a funny story in an old home, undetectable what caused the other.  And I still don’t know if it’s the chicken or the egg.

I will have more stories for Dubless in Dublin.  At the very least, one of past heartbreak, but perhaps future bad dates in a city that so quickly felt like home, it only makes sense that for an hour of my homecoming weekend I spent locked and alone in a random courtyard on the quays, definitely not as worried as I should have been.