Registration and a Glass of Water

A week ago Monday was "registration." This entailed going to the Quadrangle, waiting in no line whatsoever and handing over a form. Since the form was in Gaelic and English, and all of it European style (what's the difference between "home school" and "sending institution?), I asked if I had filled it out correctly. The glanced at it for a split second and said yes. Then she scanned my passport photo and printed out a laminated ID, and handed it to me.

"There you go, love."

"I'm all set?"

"Yes."

Silly American that I am I thought it would actually be more involved. But no. Now I'm free to attend any classes I like for the next couple of weeks. Then comes "final registration." But does that mean you've picked classes? Of course not. No pressure, you can still do add/drop for another three weeks or so after that. And if you're wondering, grades from last semester should be coming out about that time. It's a whole new level of being laid back.

A week ago today I took my travelling [sic] companions back to the airport for their journey home. Being the only one confident enough to drive, and being the nice guy that I am, I volunteered to drive them to the airport, turn in the car and take the bus back.

I had over an hour to kill before the bus left, so I went up to the airport bar. Just after I got there an elderly couple sidled up and sat down. The Mrs had claddagh earrings, claddagh necklace, and of course, ring. She reminded me quite a bit of my grandmother (long sweater with some sort of winter scene on it). She orders a scotch on the rocks, and a glass of water on the side. She gives the bartender a look like he'd better not get smart and mix them for her. Then they don't have Dewar's scotch. I braced myself for a scene in the middle of the airport bar. Oh, in that case just make it a Jameson's whiskey. Water still on the side.

The bartender turned to the Mr "anything for you sir?"

"Just a coke," he said meekly while pulling out his wallet.

She put down her drink in about the time it took me to finish one third of a pint. This is some kinda country. Although, to be fair, it was after noon. By ten minutes.