Of Leprechauns, Shamrocks and Guinness
Upon landing at Dublin International Airport, I am quickly disappointed by what I perceived as the Land of the Promised Stout. In a world where Guinness is synonymous with Ireland, I do not believe it has an awesome enough presence here in the Dublin International Airport. I half expect pubs nestled in between kiosks, serving the black liquid to raucous travelers interested in whetting their parched throats and making the cramped trip in a long cylindrical tube packed like sardines all the more bearable.
To my great dismay, I find no such thing. There were no Guinness fountains at the lobby, spouting glorious black stout for everyone to dip their hand in, and have a taste of Ireland. There were no barmaids handing out pints of Guinness to welcome travelers, much like how the Pacific Islanders of Hawaii hand out garlands to wish people well when they leave. There were no kids running around waving their half-empty bottles of Guinness chasing each other across terminals. There were no loud singing parties around kegs of Guinness or anything close to promoting this godsend drink to humanity.
I am reminded of this one scene in Family Guy, where the Irish were a utopian society two thousand years ago, on the brink of the final breakthrough and transcending their own human bodies, when suddenly beer was discovered. And they are the way they are now.
It’s fun to make fun of people based on their cultural differences.
But I’m still disappointed from the lack of free-flowing Guinness at the airport. Right now it’s 9am and I’m sitting outside a bar named Apron Bar, and much to my dismay, it is closed. In fact, there it is, the Guinness tap, right next to a Heineken, which I understand, since Heineken’s made in Netherlands, but next to the Heineken tap is a Budweiser tap. Ugh. See, this is what I don’t get, the restaurants here should be offering Guinness everything.
“Sir, you ordered an Irish breakfast, would you like a Guinness with that?”
“Ma’am, here’s your sandwich, coffee and complimentary Guinness.”
“Ms, here’s your magazine, and would you like a Guinness with that?”
“Buy your souvenirs right here, and get a free Guinness.”
“Sir, would you like a Guinness with your Guinness?”
I say hell yeah to all of that. Not because I got a drinking problem. I just choose not to quit. In fact, instead of having a Guinness like I intended to at a bar, I had to settle for a Guinness. I scanned down the list and looked for a combination that in the least had Guinness in it. I was looking for something like an orange juice, pineapple, banana, yogurt and Guinness smoothie. But I had to settle for it without the Guinness.
“I’m sorry sir, there’s no such option.”
What do you mean that there is no such option? Guinness is to the Irish as what water is to human beings. I sort of expect them to wash their dishes in Guinness, and when I went to take a dump at the public restrooms, I half-expected the black fluid to gush out the cistern and drown my sh*t. Then I would go to the sink and wash my hands, and Guinness would start pouring out to wash my hands, and I could scoop up a bit with my hands, gargle my mouth, brush my teeth and then take a good long drink.
I’m sorry, Ireland. You just don’t impress me, not with your cheap rip-off imitation Guinness souvenirs. I don’t want a keychain with the Guinness emblem on it, or a t-shirt proudly pronouncing my alcoholic beverage of choice. (I have two in my bag right now.) I want a Guinness, and I want it right now! It pains me to think that it is impossible for me to get a Guinness in Dublin International Airport. Granted that it is only 9:22am right now, but you get my drift of how important this is and I feel disappointed. Disappointed I tell you. Nothing can make up for that disappointment, as I sit here, thirstily outside Apron Bar.
The other thing I wanted to note was that I was on a flight with Aer Lingus, for all I know, it might be the national carrier of Ireland. They gave me water with my meal! What the heck? Where’s my Guinness? Then to my horror, they demanded a surcharge for any alcohol. I’m sorry Miss Air Stewardess, where’s your pride in your own country? You should be paying me to drink Guinness, so that I become an alcoholic and would be completely dependent on it for the rest of my life until I suffer from liver cirrhosis. See? Take the example of Malboro and Phillips-Morris. They had the right idea. Give out cigarettes to young teens, get them hooked early, and they become customers for life.
But I digress.
I was planning to come to Dublin on March 17th, to be Irish for a day, join the proud Irish culture of shamrocks, Guinness and rugby. And drunken brawling. But somehow, when I sit here outside this closed bar… I seriously need to rethink that.
To my great dismay, I find no such thing. There were no Guinness fountains at the lobby, spouting glorious black stout for everyone to dip their hand in, and have a taste of Ireland. There were no barmaids handing out pints of Guinness to welcome travelers, much like how the Pacific Islanders of Hawaii hand out garlands to wish people well when they leave. There were no kids running around waving their half-empty bottles of Guinness chasing each other across terminals. There were no loud singing parties around kegs of Guinness or anything close to promoting this godsend drink to humanity.
I am reminded of this one scene in Family Guy, where the Irish were a utopian society two thousand years ago, on the brink of the final breakthrough and transcending their own human bodies, when suddenly beer was discovered. And they are the way they are now.
It’s fun to make fun of people based on their cultural differences.
But I’m still disappointed from the lack of free-flowing Guinness at the airport. Right now it’s 9am and I’m sitting outside a bar named Apron Bar, and much to my dismay, it is closed. In fact, there it is, the Guinness tap, right next to a Heineken, which I understand, since Heineken’s made in Netherlands, but next to the Heineken tap is a Budweiser tap. Ugh. See, this is what I don’t get, the restaurants here should be offering Guinness everything.
“Sir, you ordered an Irish breakfast, would you like a Guinness with that?”
“Ma’am, here’s your sandwich, coffee and complimentary Guinness.”
“Ms, here’s your magazine, and would you like a Guinness with that?”
“Buy your souvenirs right here, and get a free Guinness.”
“Sir, would you like a Guinness with your Guinness?”
I say hell yeah to all of that. Not because I got a drinking problem. I just choose not to quit. In fact, instead of having a Guinness like I intended to at a bar, I had to settle for a Guinness. I scanned down the list and looked for a combination that in the least had Guinness in it. I was looking for something like an orange juice, pineapple, banana, yogurt and Guinness smoothie. But I had to settle for it without the Guinness.
“I’m sorry sir, there’s no such option.”
What do you mean that there is no such option? Guinness is to the Irish as what water is to human beings. I sort of expect them to wash their dishes in Guinness, and when I went to take a dump at the public restrooms, I half-expected the black fluid to gush out the cistern and drown my sh*t. Then I would go to the sink and wash my hands, and Guinness would start pouring out to wash my hands, and I could scoop up a bit with my hands, gargle my mouth, brush my teeth and then take a good long drink.
I’m sorry, Ireland. You just don’t impress me, not with your cheap rip-off imitation Guinness souvenirs. I don’t want a keychain with the Guinness emblem on it, or a t-shirt proudly pronouncing my alcoholic beverage of choice. (I have two in my bag right now.) I want a Guinness, and I want it right now! It pains me to think that it is impossible for me to get a Guinness in Dublin International Airport. Granted that it is only 9:22am right now, but you get my drift of how important this is and I feel disappointed. Disappointed I tell you. Nothing can make up for that disappointment, as I sit here, thirstily outside Apron Bar.
The other thing I wanted to note was that I was on a flight with Aer Lingus, for all I know, it might be the national carrier of Ireland. They gave me water with my meal! What the heck? Where’s my Guinness? Then to my horror, they demanded a surcharge for any alcohol. I’m sorry Miss Air Stewardess, where’s your pride in your own country? You should be paying me to drink Guinness, so that I become an alcoholic and would be completely dependent on it for the rest of my life until I suffer from liver cirrhosis. See? Take the example of Malboro and Phillips-Morris. They had the right idea. Give out cigarettes to young teens, get them hooked early, and they become customers for life.
But I digress.
I was planning to come to Dublin on March 17th, to be Irish for a day, join the proud Irish culture of shamrocks, Guinness and rugby. And drunken brawling. But somehow, when I sit here outside this closed bar… I seriously need to rethink that.
