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The Bus Ride
After a late dinner in the Temple Bar district, we decided to take a bus back to the hotel. We had successfully done this a couple of days earlier. No biggie, let's go! A bus pulls up to the post. It is on the #7 route, the same one we took before.
"Does this bus go to Merrion Square?" Steve wants to confirm with the bus driver.
"Yes," came the reply from behind the plastic partition.
We pay with coins, as the busses do not accept any bills. We settle into our seats and feel proud that we have learned the local system.
We leave O'Connell Street and stop by Trinity College. Ours should be next. Do we push the stop button or not? Nah, they probably stop everywhere anyway. The bus rolls by our hotel. Rest is in sight. We see Merrion Square, but the bus does not stop. Maybe it stops on the other side of the square.
But the bus keeps going.
We stare at each other. The bus will probably turn around soon. The actual stop must be on the opposite side of the street.
But the bus keeps going.
Steve goes back to the nameless driver, "Does this bus stop at Merrion Square?"
"Yes," came the reply.
And the bus keeps going.
We enter suburbia Dublin.
And the bus keeps going.
Now we've got a problem. Steve's pints of beer are catching up to him. His eyes look worried. He has to hold off thoughts of streams and waterfalls.
And the bus keeps going.
After 45 minutes, we reach the end of the line. We are the only two people on the bus.
"You have to get off here," says the driver.
Huh? Wha?
"This is the end of the line. Another bus will be by shortly. It goes the other direction."
"Were do we catch that bus?" Steve asks, obviously confused and concerned.
"Other side of the street. It'll be by in about 10 minutes," says the only person around with any knowledge of where we are.
With much trepidation, we exit the bus and cross the 4-lane road. It's 11:30 pm. What choice do we have? As any guy would in his condition, Steve finds a tall bush several feet away from the road. When he emerges, his eyes are once again clear.
We watch across the road as our former bus sits there at the end of its route. The bus driver is checking the seats for anything left behind by careless riders. We wait. Where is that other bus? Where is it coming from? There's nothing here! From across the street comes the roar of an engine. The bus is moving. The driver makes a U-turn and then stops in front of us. The doors open.
"Does this bus go to Merrion Square?" Steve incredulously asks the driver.
"It comes close," came the reply from behind the plastic partition.
We're out of the proper coins. The driver feels sorry for us and has probably had the biggest laugh of his week. Either way, he clocks us in for a lesser price ticket and we retake our seats. The same seats on the same bus.
And the bus starts going.
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