Cottonhead Tour '06

Ok quickly, because (1) It is quite late, and (2) I've had quite a few pints. The Cottonheads have arrived. That is, my mother and her two elderly friends. I hate to use "elderly," even though it is technically accurate, but that word seems to me to have gone the way of "mongoloid" and "colored," as in, not necessarily hateful in and of themselves, but unfortunately tainted or passé.

I met them at the bus station with the intention of escorting them to their B&B and back to town for a bus tour of the city. They were quick to tell me that their bus tickets were fouled up. If you believe their story, the ticket agent printed two tickets for the three of them with one of the printed tickets being good for two admissions. I'll let you decide whether that seems likely. Of course, the bus driver was having none of it. He waited outside Shannon Airport (God bless the Irish attitude) while they walked back inside and reworked their tickets.

In front of the bank machine, my mother questioned me about the ATMs here.

"What will we do after we get our money?"

"We'll head over to your B&B."

"Well shouldn't we go to the Bureau of Change first?"

"What? No. You get your money and we're off."

"But how will we get Euros?"

Me: "are you kidding? That's what we're at the ATM for." It just wasn't connecting.

"But I'm using my American ATM card, so I'll get dollars, not Euros." (why is it you only get frustrated with your own mother and everyone else's is charming?)

"Ma! This is the AIB - it stands for All Ireland Bank - who the (stifle) is going around Ireland filling the ATMs with Ben Franklins? Do you think the ATMs in the USA have the currencies of the world stored in them?"

"Harumph."

Eventually, she gets her dough but is upset that she can only withdraw 250 euro. The B&B said they want cash, and she wants to pay them for the week. I told her, just pay some now and some later, the B&B won't give you a hard time about it - it's probably a result of the $200 cap your card has at home. Oh yes you're probably right she says, and while reading her receipt she hustles off to tell the others about the cap. Bam. She goes down like a sack of (Irish) potatoes, tripped up by the uneven stairs leading to the AIB ATM. Gets a big bruise on the top of her knee. Several minutes later she's recovered but my stress level is not.

Eventually, feeling like a mother goose with her goslings, I get them loaded into a cab and down to their B&B. We agree to drop their things and then head intown so that they might catch the bus tour. Or so I thought. Half an hour later my best friend's mom and I are sitting in the common room wondering what is up with the other two. We go up to check on them. My mother can't find her toothbrush, and her friend is working on her fanny pack. Apparently either or both of these events are cause enough to hold us up for the better part of an hour.

Later in the evening I meet them at my beachhead and we have some dinner. Best friend's mom orders a margarita from the owner working the bar. He gives her a blank look. I say, geez, I thought you were waiting to order a real Irish coffee? Oh yes, I'd love that, she says. The owner says, "now that's my area of expertise," and heads off as I give him a wink.

After dinner I send them home and go get smashed with the roomies at the club. Same feeling as a long week at work.