Scotland: Day 2

(Quick note: I took a trip to Scotland in April, 2014. After spending an amazingly long time not writing about it, and forgetting which friends I'd told which stories to, I decided to post my experiences over the next few days. I am not back-dating these entries, but know that they occurred last year and that I am not writing intentionally with the benefit of eight months of hindsight.)

OK. I was safely in Edinburgh. I had made it through a day and a night without significant dental damage (that was to come later).

And, after about 11 hours of sleep, I was pretty well-rested.

My whole plan, to remind you, for the trip looked like this:

Thursday: arrive in Edinburgh. Nap. Go out drinking.
Friday: wander the neighborhood. Nap. Show starts at 7:30.
Saturday: train to Inverness. Show starts around 9:00.
Sunday: wander the neighborhood. Nap. Go out drinking.
Monday: train to Edinburgh. Wander the neighborhood. Nap. Go out drinking.
Tuesday: wander the neighborhood. Nap. Go out drinking.
Wednesday: fly back to Seattle.

It was Friday.

I rolled out of bed. Showered and groomed and might have watched people who talked funny on the TV for a hot minute. Then I grabbed my camera and started walking.

The weather was glorious. The streets were gorgeous. It was hilly and there were castles and castle-like things and a badass cemetery.

This was all wonderful, but I was particular excited about the show at Sneaky Pete's that night. I knew it was a small venue, and I knew that I would finally get to see Dropkick in person after years of having their music on repeat.

I walked the two or three blocks from the hotel to the bar and in spite of my best directional-awareness-challenged efforts, I managed to make it. I opened the door and stepped in.

The dude taking the money at the door? The lead singer. Even as one who's not a fan of celebrity, I recognized him and went to hand him the entry fee... I said hello and he must have recognized my accent or something because he asked if I was Ed. For once in my life, I admitted who I was and he gave me a big smile, wouldn't take my money, and called the other guys over as I entered the bar itself.

The bass player bought me a drink. The drummer shook my hand. It was so cool. Surreal. Super-fun.

They eventually went on after the opening act and it was fantastic. They sounded crisp and just as I'd hoped they would.

Somehow, I managed to start talking to a woman during the show (I don't know how or why... it just happens sometimes) and the band was playing to a less-than-full room that was about 30 feet wide or so, and ... I guess I was talking to the woman (who was from Canada and had come out to the bar randomly, rather than with great purpose as I had) too loudly because another chick from the other side of the bar (while the band was playing, mind you) came over and told me to stop talking so loudly.

I was speechless.

Me being speechless is uncommon. I'm often quiet, but that's usually because I choose not to say what I'm thinking. And even when I don't have something to say it's usually more from insouciance than an inability to craft sentences.

But this time? I was speechless.

I had gotten up really early two days previously. I had come thousands of miles. I had planned a whole trip to see the band. I was enjoying their music as they played about fifteen feet in front of me.

And some woman is telling me to be quiet?

I guess if I had to utter something, in retrospect, it would have been to fuck off.

Instead I think my jaw dropped and I looked at the Canadian chick in confusion. We shrugged and laughed and I got another drink and tried to be more quiet.

The show was good. It ended. And the guys from the band were apologizing that they couldn't go out with me after because they had two shows the next day and a fair bit of traveling. Those apologies struck me as a bit ridiculous--who was I? I was just some guy from Seattle... they were a band that I adored!--but it was very kind and meant a lot to me that they did it. We agreed to hook up before their show the next night in Inverness and I asked them which bar I should go to and I bid them a temporary adieu.

I took their advice and wandered over to the next bar/club/thingamabobber.

The first person I saw in the place? The woman who'd chastised me for being too loud. "Hey," I thought, "here's a chance for me to show her that I came all this way to see a band that I love..." so I approached her and the conversation went along these lines:

Me: Hey! You were at the Dropkick show, right?
Cunt: Yes I was.
Me: You told me to be quiet during the set, remember?
Cunt: Yes.
Me: Yeah, so I came all the way from Seattle to see them. I might be their biggest fan in the US. Maybe in the world.
Cunt: I guess you should have been quiet then, huh?

She was two for two with regards to rendering me speechless. If she would have been at all attractive, I might have fallen in love right then and there.

The rest of the bar was less vexing, but it still had a few oddities. These included:

• Opening a bar tab was almost impossible. It was very odd, but they had to get the manager to help me. They took my credit card, and then every time I ordered something they'd have to call the manager over and do something or other with it. It was very very strange. Then, to top it off, there was no line to give a tip on the final tab. And I had precious little cash to give them. I'm sure they hated my ugly American ass.
• There was an internal fogginess that made the most confusing bathroom entrance that I've ever seen. I am glad that I had not had too much booze or I might have ended up giving up looking and just peed on the floor. Probably not, but that would have made a much more interesting story.

The walk back to the hotel was an interesting one. I started back and somehow got integrated into a group of people. And this group included a cute redhead.

How is a drunk me supposed to resist a cute redhead in Scotland? Answer: he's not. Or I'm not. Whatever.

The group was sort of like a snowball rolling downhill when there's no snow on the ground... it got smaller and smaller as we walked, and all of the people who left were dudes, so it was the best kind of attrition.

At some point there were five of us walking: the cute redhead, her buddy, and a couple that were also not from Scotland.

Thanks to my sharp planning, I had a fair bit of rum in my hotel room, so we all wandered back to my room to drink. I don't remember exactly what we talked about, but it was revealed that the foreign couple was from Finland. Or Denmark. Or somewhere. As I noted, I don't remember exactly.

We drank. The Finns/Danes/whatever left. After more conversation and rum we all fell asleep (pretty much) and my second day in Scotland was a tremendous success.

Obviously I could keep drinking as much as I wanted in a foreign country with no negative consequences. I would never get my comeuppance. Guaranteed.