Wednesday gone, I made my first trip into Dublin in many, many years. Hopefully it will be as long again before I have to return. What I detest most is the journey.
With this particular journey I well and truly went in off the black - I opted for the 9 o’clock bus thinking that most commuters would be in work by then, the bus would be near empty and the roads would clear. Seeing only a handful of passengers I figured my choice was a good one. Good man, Sneezy, says I, fair play to ya. The driver looked at me over his glasses.
The reason for so few passengers became apparent when the bus pulled off the N7 into Citywest and meandered through Jobstown, The Square and Belgard before rejoining the N7 at Newlands. And extra half hour added to the trip. Ya blitherin’ gobshite, Sneezy, says I, you would take the one and only fekin bus that goes the unscenic route wouldn’t ya. The driver looked at me over his glasses.
I called ahead to say I’d be late. We took a wrong turn. A what … how the fek could … where? Ah look, I’ll explain later.
A couple with two small children began to panic - would they make the airport by 10:30? Not a hope, said the driver over his glasses, it’ll be that by the time we connect with the Heuston-Airport feeder. The man turned white as the Klan. We moved barely 100m in the next five minutes. Even 10:30 for Heuston wasn’t looking doable.
The driver got on his phone and called a few of his taxi driver mates over his glasses. None were nearby.
Near Bluebell he hopped out and ran to an empty cab. Free? Ya free? Fare to the airport for ya. Pull in over there. I’ll block the way and let you back out. And don’t fuck them over on the fare.
He bullied the bus across the lanes blocking the traffic and the taxi made an illegal u-turn and sped off back toward the motorway. I reckon they’ll make it, he said over his glasses.
That morning I was in a bookbinders, a pharmacy, the Olympia theatre, the Central Bank, Bus Áras, a newsagents, a camera store and a hospital. In all bar the hospital I got the same level of helpful service the driver had given that family (not that I ever expected more than grunts from the HSE jobsworths anyway). It made up for arduous journey somewhat.
They made the airport, said the same driver over his glasses on the return trip. Oh it’s yourself. How do ya know? I called the number on the taxi when I got back to base. I could’ve been sacked for blocking the road like that - I’d hate to think it was all for nothing.
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