Saint Patrick’s Day: Expectation vs. Reality

Here’s to the cavalcade of holidays that get us through the cold months: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentines Day…And this is where it begins to lose momentum…Saint Patrick’s Day. As a kid, March 17th meant nothing more than loaded baked potatoes in the school cafeteria and getting pinched for not wearing green. I'd also be reminded that I am somewhat Irish and formerly Catholic, but now not particularly religious on my father’s side. That was basically it. American Saint Patrick’s Day is a bit of a sham anyway, like Cinco de Mayo, a holiday with real significance to an entire culture turned into an excuse to get drunk.

The best Saint Patrick’s day I had as an adult was when I was working at my first corporate office job. The head of our department was deeply in touch with his Irish roots. Wearing one of those classic white cable knit sweaters made from imported Irish wool, he took the whole team out to lunch at the most authentic Irish pub in town.

I was twenty-something and doing stand-up comedy on the side. I was used to having a few drinks, but certainly not during work hours. I remember thinking, this isn’t the sixties, people don’t actually take “liquid lunches” anymore do they? Everyone started ordering beer, mostly Guinness. I followed suit with a black and tan, which was suggested to me because I was nervous about dark beers. I liked it. I had two or three. I remembered there were Irish dancers and people singing folk songs. I ordered something wet…A stew, perhaps with lots of meat and potatoes. The details are a little hazy.

We were gone for at least two hours. At the end of the meal I was introduced to Irish coffee. They told me it was strong, but I didn’t realize they were referring to more alcohol. When they brought me back to work, I'm sure I wasn’t much use to anyone, but I like to think I was holding it together until I’d sobered up enough to drive home.

What made it the best Saint Patrick’s day was the effortlessness. I was treated to an afternoon of “Irish stuff” and it was fun. Fast forward a few years, and I am trying to convince my husband to go out for St. Patrick’s Day dinner and drinks.

“It’s just going to be a bunch of loud college kids drinking green beer,” he said.

“No, this place is a real Irish pub. It will be awesome.” I was thinking of my prior experience, that two hour lunch on the boss’ company credit card.

My husband was right though, the place was overrun with very loud, very drunk people trying to fight and/or have sex with one another. There were no open tables and they were all out of Irish beer. We’d have to settle for Miller Lite in a plastic cup. I asked the bartender if we could order food. The bartender looked annoyed at the question. “I think we might have some corned beef sandwiches, but I’ll have to check.” I had to get bumped and spilled on to finally concede that this was a bad idea.

The ‘I told you sos’ started in the car and continued all the way home. I have a bad habit of creating unreasonable expectations for special occasions and then getting really upset when the natural outcome doesn’t match that one time it was perfect. But nothing is perfect and time has a way of smoothing out the rough edges. These days, I don’t need a lot of excitement in a public place. I think Covid cured me of that. I just cook a nice Irish dinner (sans cabbage) and play Leprechaun shenanigans with the kiddo. Green food coloring in the toilet is always a classic.