It's Like Six Dollars.

Alright, my first proper post. It's been difficult getting the motivation to sit down and actually write this thing. I love writing, but it can just be so mentally fatiguing sometimes that when I think about it I end up completely psyching myself out. When I just sit down and start putting the fingers to the keys though, I usually end up writing way more than I intended. I've already grossly digressed with this very first paragraph.

Anyways, so the "Meat and Potatoes" as they say. For those of you that don't know me personally, which hopefully will be the vast majority of my readers if this blog gets off the ground in the way I hope it to, I have recently moved to the Republic of Ireland; Dublin specifically. Hence the title of my blog: "Emigrant". I just finished my undergraduate studies and in a yearning for adventure and change I have embarked across the Atlantic Ocean in search of employment and a new life. I have the advantage of being a dual citizen with the United States and Ireland, as my father was born and raised in Ireland, and through some complicated maneuverings I received my Irish passport some time ago. With a citizenship to the country, I am free to stay here as long as I'd like and enjoy all of the liberties, freedoms, and opportunities of the Irish-born, in Ireland and the rest of the European Union.

My first two weeks have consisted mainly of me relentlessly scouring the internet for employment opportunities and badgering recruitment agencies from the common rooms of hostels. This has proved to be more interesting than I expected. I have made friends from many different countries, experienced the ups and downs of the tireless job searcher, and even got to do a little exploring of Dublin in my down time. Some hostels have been more interesting than others, including a two night stay in a place called "Citi Hostel" that I will briefly explain just because I need to get off my chest.

"Citi Hostel"; I refer to it as "Shitty Hostel". I was staying quite comfortably in a Hostel called "Isaac's" for my first three nights in Dublin. It was not the nicest accommodation I have ever had, nor even the nicest Hostel I have ever been in, but it had all the essential anemeties of a hostel. It was cheap(€18 per night, €9 if you booked online), located in the city centre, had lockers to store my luggage, a secure building, decent showering/bathroom facilities, wifi internet, and a cafe next door that offered a discount to tenants of the hostel. I really could not complain.

Much to my dismay, the All-Ireland Football Final fell on my first weekend in Dublin. It's customary to hold the match at Croke Park in Dublin, Ireland's largest and most historic stadium. Because of the large influx of people for the game, much of the accommodation in the area was booked solid. However, I stumbled across "Citi Hostel" and although the reception area looked a bit decrepit, it was right around the corner from "Isaac's" so I could easily move my luggage there and the price was in fact cheaper (only €15 per night, which should have been a warning sign). I did not have much other choice, so I decided to book two nights. By Sunday the game would be over and the nicer places would open back up again. I handed the woman at the front desk €30, and to my suspicion, she straight pocketed it. Come on people, no cash register or anything? At least act like you're putting my money in a safe place; don't just pocket it right in front of me. Then she promptly ripped, yeah ripped, me off a small square of paper from a notebook where she wrote down my full name, which room I would be staying in, and for how long. Not the most reassuring verification, but they didn't have a cash register so I guess it was naive of me to expect a proper receipt.

When I moved in I started to learn why "Shitty Hostel" could offer such cut-throat rates as €15 a night. First of all, the doors on the rooms didn't lock. This would not make me that angry except that some dude that worked for the hostel explained to me for about five minutes before he let me go upstairs how I would unlock my room. Apparently the staff is under the impression that the five-digit code system that they have on the doors is functioning. It's bad enough staying in a hostel and having to worry about the six or seven people that you are sharing a room with nicking your stuff, not to mention the entire building. I was carrying some expensive things so I quickly invested in luggage storage at the internet cafe down the street. The €5 per day cost of this already made "Shitty Hostel" more expensive than "Isaac's" all costs included, so I promptly returned to "Isaac's" and made sure to book Sunday night there. An interesting point I should mention was the attendance at "Shitty Hostel"; 140 people were staying there on my first night in the hostel. The reason I inquired was because they only had one shower, and I wanted to know the ratio I was working with at the time. I did a quick Google search on the bathroom to human ratio in some third world countries and was unable to come up with anything, but I would bet that 140:1 would be somewhere in the ballpark.

As with most things in life, the most intriguing aspect was not the place, but rather the people. At "Shitty Hostel" I shared my room with 4 Portuguese kids about my age, all of which were also in search of work. The Portuguese and I hit it off, they were looking to improve their English and were very eager to talk to a native speaker, and I was happy to entertain them and make some new friends in the process (Just a side note: I taught them that a common phrase in the United States' nowadays is "Go USA. Fuck Bush."; I know this isn't true, but I couldn't resist, and now the poor fuckers will be going around to every American they meet saying it, and hopefully offending a few Republicans in the process. Although with Bush's approval ratings these days, that phrase might actually start catching on.). Another of my room-mates was this Czech kid, who without provocation explained to me all of his beliefs on how an "energy" is inside each of us controlling what we do; I won't get into it.

The most interesting however, had to be Josef. Josef was a 50 year old German man that must of had roots in the Hitler Youth or some shit because he was one of the most jacked men I have ever met in my life. Even at 50 he was a straight beast of a man. Every time Josef entered the room, he immediately would strip down to his underwear and climb into the top bunk where he slept. After stripping down the first time, he started to spew angrily at myself and the Portuguese about how his wife had left him for Brazil and advised us to go down to the local health clinic to get a vasectomy, even offering to pay for it at one point. The strangest part was the next morning. I awoke early and sat upright on my bed reading "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail: 1972", and quietly Josef arose from bed and dressed himself rapidly. As he exited I said:
-Take care Josef.
-Bye.
A simple one word reply was not what I expected from the exuberant, albeit negative, individual I had met the night prior. It was as if Josef was caught off guard by my greeting him. I quickly shook it off and continued with my reading. I puttered around during the day; mainly just walking around to local businesses and handing my CV to anyone that would take it. That night I went to bed early, anticipating an early departure from "Shitty Hostel" so I could check in to "Isaac's" as quick as possible. I was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud BANG, like someone had just dropped a tree trunk from twelve feet in the air and it had the misfortune of landing directly next to my ear. I frantically scrambled in the darkness to put on my glasses and slowly I heard the laughter of a fifty year old disgruntled German man; a full bellied laugh, but it still had a hint of sadness. One of the Portuguese kids switched on the light and we saw Josef unsuccessfully attempting, in his underwear, to climb up to his top bunk. Another loud bang as he tumbled off the ladder and his freakishly strong body hit the floor creating a crater the dinosaur's would of been pissed about. We soon learned that Josef was just a drunk, so one of the Portuguese kids volunteered to switch to the top bunk and we put Josef to bed; both parties laughing the entire time.

But anyway, none of this nonsense is even what I intended to write about. Remember at the beginning when I was talking about digressing? Damn I could never be a professional writer; there is no way I would be able to stay on task. So the reason I am writing this particular blog entry is to confess to the world a terrible manipulation of the local economy here in Dublin that I have been carrying out since my arrival.

At some point late each night I realize I am hungry and trek down to a tiny fast food restaurant near the hostel named "Garibaldi's". Two cheery Arab dudes run the store and the place is open very late; in fact I'm not even sure how late they are open. There are no hours of operation listed anywhere in the restaurant and I've never been awake late enough to see the place closed. I have this theory that the place is just open 24/7 and the two guys that work in the store never stop working. The best part of "Garibaldi's" is the food of course. They offer a quality, large slice of pizza and a can of soda for only €4. Can't beat those prices. Every once and a while I will also indulge in a mlikshake, although at €3.25 each they don't quite fit into my budget every night. Let's remember I'm still unemployed here. Directly across the street from Garibaldi's is another pizza joint called "Pa Pa Pizza" that seems to be open just as late. One night I decided to try it out, so I crossed the street and ordered the same thing as usual: One slice and a soda. The first strike against Pa Pa Pizza came when I was charged €4.50 for the same meal I was getting at Garibaldi's. There was a portly Italian man behind the counter of Pa Pa's who seemed to be running the shop without much trouble. I took my pizza over to one of the tables inside and began to scarf it down. Then I realized their pizza was absolute shit. Seriously, you couldn't even pay me to eat it, never mind charge me €.50 more than the other place. I threw away half the pizza and the Italian man looked puzzled and then asked:
-Something wrong with it there boy?
-No not really, but hey, ya know the place across the street offers the same thing for only €4?
-Yeah
He shook his head, seemingly disinterested. However, the next night as I was sitting in Girabaldi's peering out the window as I ate my pizza and I saw a square white piece of cardboard sitting in the window of Pa Pa's with "Pizza Slice and Soda €4" scribbled on it in red marker. It then dawned on me, if I could make Pa Pa's lower their pizza prices with one simple suggestion then what else could I make my over-sized Italian friend do? The next night I went back to Pa Pa's and ordered their new €4 special, forced myself to swallow it down, and then picked a conversation with the Italian owner.
-I see your prices are down now man?
-Yeaaa, we have to compete man. Business is down.
-You know what you should do to bring in more business?
-What's that?
He was leaning in closer to me at this point, intriguied by my expansive pizza business knowledge.
-You should get a milkshake machine, they have one over there and they charge €3.25 for each one.
-Do people buy?
-Ohhhh Hell yeah. They are like their most popular item. You could probably charge like €2.50 for each of your milkshakes and bring all the business over here.
At this point he started yelling in Italian back towards the kitchen. I promptly slipped out the front door and strolled back to my hostel. I was pretty proud of myself, I think he bought it. I felt a little bad about having to lie to the poor fool about the milkshakes being one of Girabaldi's most popular items. In fact, I had never seen anyone purchase one besides myself. Now I'm just waiting to see if Pa Pa Pizzeria actually starts offering milkshakes. Don't get me wrong, I won't go there for my nightly dinner even if their milkshakes are free. The food is better at Garibaldi's, the guys are cheery and nice, and I like supporting the foreigners anyway (and before you claim that the Italian is a foreigner, I'd like to point out that the European Union has become a giant conglomerate that is trying to control everything from the social issues to the financial policies of it's member states; plus citizens can travel and work freely throughout the Union. As far as I am concerned, there's nothing different between a Texan in New York City and an Italian in Dublin, it's actually quite impressive what the EU has managed to do). I'm just trying to get them to bring down the price on those milkshakes, cause €3.25 is just an exorbitant rate that I frankly refuse to pay.