I have a story to tell that is long overdue..
On 4 July of this year (my own nation's independence day), I was crossing the very wet Grafton and College Green intersection, when I slipped in my stupid tread-less Vans, and came down hard on my right knee. I knew that something bad had just occurred but was still in shock. After hobbling over two blocks in increasing pain, I zeroed in on getting to a bar stool. "I'll just drink this off, obviously", I thought. Bruxelles was the first sign that caught my eye and somehow I made it all the way in and to the bar.
I drank a beer and had an appetizer that I can't recall even tasting. I'm not the type to allow others see me in pain, but my resolve was melting as fast as my knee was swelling. For once, beer was NOT making it all better. I asked the hipster bartender for some ice in a bar towel and even though he gave me an odd look, he still produced a fat little ice packet that I was thankful for. I was still trying to act like it wasn't a big deal, but I guess my face was starting to betray me. Soon a sweet blonde bartender was handing me ibuprofen and others around were beginning to look on curiously.
In excruciating pain, with a knee the size of a grapefruit, I called an Uber to get me back to my hostel. As soon as I tried to slip off the bar stool, I froze. I literally could not get off, it was so bad. Internal panic set in. And then a moment that I will be forever be grateful for.. a nicely dressed customer of yours approached and asked me in the most soothing Irish lilt, what he could do to help 'make my day better'. Within 5 minutes he had convinced a cab to back up as close to the back exit as possible and then he and a large burly man basically carried me and my bag to it. He also paid the driver! I stopped being an idiot and had the driver take me to the St. James ER, where the driver found a wheelchair and took me in on his own accord. Sixteen hours later, I was back at my hostel in a huge brace with crutches, holding a stack of xrays showing a nice long crack on my knee cap. Sadly, my trip was over and three days later I took two long flights back to the states. I would stay on crutches for the next two months.
The point of this rather long story, is how I will never forget the kindness I was shown that day at your bar from staff and clientele alike. Alone in a foreign country is a pretty bad time to break a bone, and without the aid of strangers, that experience would've been far more horrible than it turned out to be. A massive THANK YOU to the Bruxelles bartenders who were working that day and their caring patrons (and to the helpful cab drivers, emergency room nurses, hostel workers, DUB airport staff, etc..seriously, the list goes on). This wasn't my first trip to the motherland, and it wont be my last so I'll absolutely be back to drink and eat again, with two healthy legs..
P.S. When I tell my fellow Americans that I broke my knee on the Fourth of July, they assume I was drunk. Then I explain that I was actually in Dublin, and then they still think I was drunk :) read more