I know a Patrick, and he's no saint

St. Patrick's day is a bar owner's dream. People start drinking early in the day, and don't really stop...until they really can't drink anymore. It was a bigger night for us that New Year's. I wasn't scheduled to work, so was out with a few friends. I had tried to go to one of the two "Irish" pubs in town for an obligatory pint of Guinness but they were all packed so full that I couldn't even get up to the bar to order a drink. So I stopped by Bardeaux and found that it too was real busy... and there wasn't anybody on the door. I suppose that in retrospect this makes sense - since our new doorman is Irish - but it seems silly that we hadn't had the foresight to get a substitute for the night.

I had only had a few drinks and didn't want the bar to get itself into trouble so I threw on the security jacket and stood on the door for a couple hours. Yep, I've gotten pretty huge and intimidating since I left the States (not really... working security at Bardeaux is more about people skills than butt-kicking skills - although those help too). The biggest part of being a successful doorman is identifying problematic people, before they have a chance to cause trouble. So when walking around collecting glasses, I'd often talk to groups of people to gauge their levels of intoxication.

I was talking to a group of Australians who were friendly and having a good time. We had been talking for about 5 minutes when one of them asked "So are you from the North land or from the Republic itself?" The only time I've ever heard of a "North" region, as differentiated from a republic, is Ireland. Confused, I told them that I come from the US, not Ireland. But they insisted that I sounded Irish... maybe my thick kiwi accent, when combined with my old American accent, results in an Irish accent....?

I guess everybody really IS Irish on St. Patrick's day.