It was the last night of a long trip in Europe. The final destination was Dublin, Ireland. To start our evening, two friends and I headed to the Jameson Factory. We were planning on taking a tour through the factory; however, all of the tours were booked by the time that we arrived. Little did we know, this minor disappointment turned out to be the factor that started our night of a lifetime.
Bummed out, we decided to at least grab a drink at the bar before leaving. They had delicious and fresh whiskey drinks. Boone drank a whiskey straight up while Katy and I both ordered a drink that involved lemon, thyme syrup, orange peel, and honey.
Our attitudes were all the same, let’s drink these and go home.
To top off our disappointing night, there were no more tables available. After noticing us looking very tired and lost, a very kind man offered for us to sit with him. The three of us were always trying to meet new people during our trip, so we didn’t even hesitate to sit and get to know him. As I sat down, I couldn’t help but notice that there were seven or so empty drinks already on the table. So, either this guy had friends that already left, sat at a used table, or he was already very drunk.
He was hammered.
For the next three hours, Katy and I sat in humiliation. This man was an extreme pervert and with every drink he lost the little social filter he already had.
At first, his jokes were funny. He poked fun at himself, complaining in detail about his sex life at home (or the lack of one). He showed us pictures of his dogs and wife. Then, he dropped a bombshell on us.
He boasted to us that he was a multimillionaire. I’m not sure about Boone or Katy, but I didn’t believe him. I thought to myself, this is some sad, drunk man trying to talk himself up. I entertained his stories about flying on his private jet and about his winning racehorses. There was no way this guy was seriously rich. He could barely speak a sentence without drunkenly drooling a little down his chin.
Throughout the course of the evening, this man bought us five drinks each, at ten dollars a drink. Katy and I were only able to finish about half of a drink before he got up to grab us more. We didn’t mind though, it’s not like we were wasting our own personal money. Boone wasn’t enjoying the five free drinks as much as we were. Whenever the man went to grab more drinks, Boone would grab my drink and tell me that he wanted a fruity drink instead of another straight up.
Each time he bought us a drink, he would toss a fifty euro at the waiter. (Im not kidding, the poor waiter had to pick it off the ground. He didn’t seem too annoyed to be earning such large tips though.)
As the evening wore on, the man apparently noticed my boobs, or the lack of them. He decided that I needed to do something about this. Handing over his credit card, he told me to go get a breast enhancement surgery. He wanted to help me.
It was very difficult to explain to this man why I wouldn’t accept his money. Finally, I was able to persuade him to put the credit card away. He said to me, you’re right! I shouldn’t take the credit card, his wife would notice!
Instead, he pulled out seven hundred euros and put them on the table.
The stack of crisp euros sat on the table for the next hour untouched by everyone except the man. He would pull a fifty off of the top to tip the waiter. Don’t worry, he told me, we will go to the ATM and get you more money after this.
Almost five hours after sitting and talking with this man, Katy, Boone, and I began to give each other the ‘lets leave soon’ look. We had heard enough of his drunken stories and were finding his come-ons less and less humorous. Instead, his comments just became more vulgar by the minute.
For those reading this article, I have spared you all of the disgusting and demeaning comments he made, especially towards Katy and myself.
Never again do I want to hear about the things an overweight, drunk, old man wants to physically do to me. I do not want to hear any more detailed questions about my own sex life. And I definitely I do not want to be told to “move my arms” so that someone can get a better look at my chest.
Having said all of that, I can still say that this was the best last night of my trip.
After making an excuse to leave, the man said he wanted to take us to dinner. No, I said, and please take your money. He told me to hold it for a minute while he went to get his limo for us.
And then he disappeared… without taking his money and without leaving a name.
So I got a boob job.
Just kidding. Boone, Katy, and I treated ourselves to wine, dinner, and dessert at one of the most famous restaurants in Dublin. It was amazing.
The next day, out of curiosity I attempted to find him online. I searched the phrase “canadian multimillionaire horse racer” and there he was.
Looking back on it, I wonder if he remembers anything that happened or if he just woke up with an empty wallet. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me.
It was a delicious meal.