The college I attended was Radford University, located in southern Virginia. Radford has the reputation of being one of the premier party schools in the nation. I surmise the reason for that is besides drinking, there is very little to do in the tiny college city. Radford is known for prolific drinking any day of the week, so you can only imagine the drinking that is done on a well known drinking holiday such as St. Patrick’s day.
It’s my guess that less than 5 percent of the students (including me until I just looked it looked it up) could tell you why we celebrate St. Patrick’s day, but we knew there was green beer to be had, and that was good enough reason to celebrate as any.
For the 2004 rendition of St Patrick’s day I got invited to an off-campus party. In addition to green beer, we were also drinking Irish Car Bomb’s all-night. I learned later in life through a friend that ordering a Irish Car Bomb in an Irish bar gives you a better than 50/50 chance to have you thrown out of the bar unceremoniously due to being offensive for those that went through the IRA tactics, but for this innocent college student I was drinking them because they tasted good. I lost count at six, but my girlfriend (and now wife), sober thankfully, said I had 10 of them. At least.
When we left the party I remembered I wanted to see a boxing fight and a local bar on Radford’s main street (actually one of the only streets in Radford) was showing it. This place wasn’t a college bar. It was a very blue collar bar filled with locals, and nobody was drinking green beer there. My wife to be said we got some strange looks when we came in, mostly because I asked very loudly if they would put on the fight. While there I drank a few more beers, and watched the fight, though I can’t tell you who was fighting, let alone who won.
On our way out, my wife tells me I went to the bar to pay. I asked the older female bartender what I should tip her, as I couldn’t do math. While counting on my fingers I put my wallet on the bar, before scribbling my name and tip on the receipt. I walked out, leaving my wallet on the bar. My wife believes that the bartender noticed it, but had no intention of telling me. Luckily my wife recovered my wallet before it became the property of this particular barkeep.
The lesson in the story? Give someone else your wallet, or have a keen set of eyes on you while you attempt to pay for things while your out for St. Patrick’s day. Also, don’t order an Irish Car Bomb in an Irish Bar.
In all seriousness, please be safe this St. Patrick’s day.