Oh! I was having a tough time of it. I had just arrived in Ireland from America, my first vacation since I was very young. I have had a lifetime of bad luck, and as you might have expected it, my luggage did not arrive with me. Perhaps it decided to abandon me for a more fortunate destination. To add to my misfortune, by the time I arrived at my lodging – a simple bed-and-breakfast – my room wasn’t ready just yet. These are the kinds of things that I have come to expect to always happen to me.
But it was a fine summer evening, still a little light outside and warm enough to not require a jacket. This was a little different than what you might expect from Ireland, wasn’t it? Perhaps my luck was about to change? This was my primary reason for traveling to Ireland, in order to experience the luck of the Irish. And as luck would have it, there was a pub nearby where I could have a pint and wait until my room was ready.
The name of this pub was called Róisín’s, like ‘Raisins’ but with funny looking letters in it. Later I learned that this was a Gaelic word for roses, which was also the name of a woman somehow related to the owner of the place. It certainly made me feel like I was actually in Ireland, learning Gaelic and chasing the end of the rainbow on a fine summer night.
The pub was a small setting as you might expect, with a barkeep and a few folks who probably were also taking in the warm summer night. Or perhaps they were just there for their daily drink. Not wanting to occupy a whole table to myself, I sat down at the bar and asked for ‘a pint of the dark stuff.’ I saw this in a movie once and always wanted to ask for it. The barkeep seemed like a nice man, a generation older than myself, and he quickly served me a draft of Guinness.
The barkeep inquired about where I was from, what I was doing in Ireland, where I will be staying, and so forth. And soon enough, the rest of the patrons at Róisín’s joined our friendly conversation.
A short while later, the star of the story walked in to the pub. It was a funny place like that: one person enters the establishment, and all eyes are upon them. My initial impression was that he seemed slightly troubled, like he’d been drenched in a rain storm. Although it was a perfectly fine evening, as I mentioned. He sat on one of the barstools and with a grunt, he ordered a pint and a shot of whiskey. Ordering a drink was acceptable behavior, but it just seemed to me like everyone there asked for drink rather than ordering one.
After a drink went into his hand, the conversation in the establishment resumed. A couple of rounds later, I shared that I was in Ireland looking to break my string of bad luck. I’ve had a lifetime of it, and I asked if anyone knew where I could start to change it. Some seemed to laugh at my request, and one woman said that I read too many fables.
The stranger interrupted to share that he was the luckiest person alive. That brought the rancor down to a silence. He continued to share that being this lucky was actually quite miserable for him.
Now before you read any further, I have to warn you that there is going to be quite a bit of anxiousness with the rest of this story. It’s got some twists and turns for sure. So feel free to stop reading now and find something else which is less damaging to your health. But if you’re still interested and can stomach it, then read on.