Moving. Difficult at the best of times, our experience was unmitigated disaster. It started off well, as we found our new flatmate fairly fast. We set up a few interviews with some young professional girls (we had a flood of responses to the ad we put up on Daft, as the room is a very good price for what it is) the first with a Spanish engineer called Laura. We liked her very much but felt we should at least meet a few more people so as not to just take the first girl we met. We talked to a couple of nice girls, but after each we just said to ourselves, “She's cool, but I like Laura better”. So in the end we cancelled all our other interviews and just called Laura and asked her to move in. She agreed, thankfully, to put up with us and for the moment everything was rosy.
Meanwhile, finding replacements for us at the old Bolton street flat was proving harder than previously thought. Normally we'd never have problems finding someone, but this time was somewhat different as we were looking for three girls at the same time (Marie was moving back to France four days after we were due to move) and Sabrina was quite picky about who she would live with. No men, no students, no smokers, nobody under 21, blah blah blah. Usually it takes about a week to find someone suitable, so we thought three weeks would be plenty of time. But Sabrina took so long to decide who she wanted that by the time she picked people they'd already found another place. It was a stressful time for us all, showing people the flat every day (it's quite exhausting after an eight hour day at work to smile and joke with strangers in your living room) and worrying about finding a replacement to cover the rent (not to mention get our deposit back). In the end, we found three people in time, but only just.
Finally, or so we thought, it was time to move. By this time I hadn't seen the flat in more than a month. When I did see it, it was only half finished, I only had a quick glance, and Shelly and Laura hadn't seen it at all. I wasn't even sure where the bedrooms were or what was in the apartments or anything. Whether we would even have a microwave. At this point I was ringing the agents every second day asking when the flat would be ready and when we could sign the lease. They gave me the standard response, i.e. “We're not sure yet - when we know we'll call you to set up a time”. Finally it rolled around to Wednesday the 6th. I called the agents as usual, only to be told, “We called you yesterday” (a lie, no voicemail or missed call) “Only the people that called back can move in on Friday”. You can imagine how I felt at that point. I lost the plot at the poor woman on the phone. “You told me we could move on the 8th, we planned to move on the 8th, now we have nowhere to live, I've called seven times in the last couple of weeks, nobody could tell me anything as of Monday and now suddenly a delay of a couple of hours means we can't move in?” Rant rant rant. All the builders' fault apparently - true, but typical buck-passing. The apartment wasn't ready, wasn't fit for human habitation and that's just all there was to it.
I put the phone down, stomped around the office for a bit making “Grrr” noises until someone asked me what was wrong and then I had another rant. Then I sat at my computer and wrote a scathing email to the lettings department with the subject “***URGENT - Attn: Lettings Manager***”. I don't remember exactly what I put but I remember the first line was something along the lines of “Your website boasts about professionalism and personalised service but throughout my dealings with your company I have experienced neither of these”, so you can see the general tone of the correspondence. I sent it off in a big huff not expecting a response (despite my at least 30 calls to their office between trying to see the apartment and trying to sign the lease, nobody from the agent had ever called me back).
To her credit, at half nine the next morning, Carina, the manager rang my direct line. By this point I had calmed down somewhat, but reiterated my concerns (mainly that no information had been available until the previous day and when there finally was, it was bad news, and also my newfound state of homelessness). She reassured me that we were top priority to move in as early as possible the next week. Monday, Tuesday? I asked. She wouldn't pin down a day.
Right so. I told Shelly and Laura the bad news (very difficult) and we tried to sort out where we were going to live until Monday. We called the girls who were going to move into our flat and asked if they could move in on Monday. They agreed, so we were fine until then. Laura was a different story, but in a big pinch she stayed at her boyfriend's house (he shares a room with another guy). So we were ok until Monday.
That weekend was Marie's last in Dublin, so we went out to celebrate/commiserate. We went out to dance at Odeon, and to eat at a Chinese restaurant Shelly knows on Parnell St. We had fun and didn't cry.
Monday rolled around and I called the agent again, pleading with them via ESP to give me good news. They didn't. We'd be moving in Friday. Definitely Friday, or maybe Friday? Definitely Friday she said. I was angry but at least we had a definite day. In the meantime we had to figure out what the hell we were going to do with ourselves and our luggage until then. I was fine as I have lots of friends with convenient rooms or couches in the city centre that I could stay at. I ended up at my friend Eimear's, who provided me with:
a) a bed
b) a room to myself
c) a house in Ballsbridge (the Toorak of Dublin for the Melbournites, the Puerto Madero of Dublin for the Porteños) next to the biggest Tesco in Dublin at which works not one but two cute guys and
d) a towel.
Plus her place is close to work. So sweet. In fact, I almost had it easier there than at Bolton Street. Shelly stayed on the Bolton Street couch (squashy, but bearable for four days) and poor Laura still at Derek's. That week was harder on me than I thought it was going to be. Silly me, I thought I'd just be having a good time with Eimear and her housemates who are all really fun. I had this big idea that it was going to be like one big long slumber party. I did have fun, but I underestimated the stress of living out of a suitcase, negotiating unfamiliar bus routes, being a “guest”, having to co-ordinate with other people what time I was going to arrive home, not having anything in the fridge (well, to be frank that's not much of a change from my regular life). The weirdest thing was not having keys to anywhere. Well, I had work keys, but I had handed over my keys to Bolton Street and hadn't got keys to my new apartment, and I felt more “homeless” without keys than without four familiar walls. Even when I stay in a strange place I still have my keys - a symbolic representation of my home.
I muddled through the week slightly more dishevelled than usual, and finally made it to Friday. I tried to leave work early, and achieved a half hour gain and left at 17:00. I caught the 18 back to Ballsbridge and got chatting to a lovely woman with the cutest pigtails and an even cuter daughter. We compared “moving out” stories, flute lesson stories, and general anecdotes and jokes. We had great craic until she and her daughter got off in Sandymount. I got back to my temporary home in Ballsbridge, had something to eat and chatted a bit with Eimear and Denise before I called a cab to take all my stuff back to Parnell st. What a relief to finally have a home!
Shelly had called me at work to gush about the apartment but I didn't have time to talk to her, so I didn't really have a clue what the place was like. I walked in and it was - well, it was a new apartment! Everything beige and totally characterless, but new and clean! And we can make the character over time. We had a dining table to seat six, couches to seat four (or six if you wanna get up close and personal), a coffee table, dishwasher, washing machine, brand new oven, microwave and stove, an enormous fridge and freezer (well, enormous when you compare it to the miniscule bar fridge we were using in the previous apartment) and, wait for it, DOUBLE BEDS! Well, Shelly and I have doubles and Laura has a king size bed. My bed is just about as big as my room, but what the hell else do I need to put in there? Laura has an ensuite with shower (oh my god) which means we'd gone from four girls and one bathroom to three girls and two bathrooms - a much nicer equation. The shower pressure is great too, and the bath is spacious enough for a good relaxing soak.
So that's what we got. Here's what we didn't get: duvets, pillows, cutlery, crockery, cleaning equipment, pots and pans, knives, kitchen utensils, and lots of other bits and pieces. So Friday night I ate with chopsticks Shelly brought and slept on my double mattress in my sleeping bag. Welcome to my new apartment!
On Saturday morning the three of us went SHOPPING! Homewares all the way. We went to Talbot street where all the bargain basement stores are and bought the lot. The best buys I think were the duvets at 12 euro fifty and the 16 piece crockery set for 10 quid. Hurrah for us. I think we spent about 100 euro each and came loaded. The rest of the day was spent organising the apartment and cleaning it from top to bottom, so we were exhausted by the end, but it was worth it in the end, as we finally had a usable, neat apartment! To celebrate I had bought a bottle of bubbly (el cheapo from Tesco, but hey, I'm no Paris Hilton) and we drank it out of glasses (we didn't have the budget for champagne flutes). Cheers to new beginnings.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
I'm so dizzy my head is spinning
Does this happen to everyone or is it just me? My life fluctuates wildly between incredibly intense and exceedingly mundane. Friday was one of the latter days - filled with filing and other tasks that do not require massive energy input. By Friday afternoon I was completely wiped from the week, and although I had been looking forward to it all week, I decided to give Hope's party a miss and jumped into bed at half nine instead. I was out for the count until half nine on Saturday morning when I went to SuperValu to get breakfast and pottered around until it was time to go to the gym. Though I'm going pretty regularly, I've been slack about actually working out; most days I do a quick run and hop in the sauna. The last couple of weeks I've pushed myself a bit harder, especially as I'm planning a mountainous trek for early next year either in Northern Ireland or Scotland (Scottish Highlands here I come, if I can afford it) and I'm going to have to have strong legs for that. I made it through the Andes, but just barely!
After the gym a long, hot shower (I loooove the showers at my gym) and I made myself pretty to go out to the Karma bar and meet Nic and the others. Nic's moving (well, has moved now) to Galway and we were going out for drinks to celebrate his last night in Dublin. The Karma bar was pretty cool looking but practically devoid of people. I met Carlos, Heidi's boyfriend. He's Mexican and lots of fun, but he had a sore throat and so wasn't up for a long night. Tania, my new Russian friend came, and we caught up as we walked to Whelan's. We got there as the band (Ito) was still playing, and we managed to sneak in to hear the last few songs. They were pretty good, and had a totally cool retro vibe. We danced lots and drank a bit, and generally went mad. I had my eye on the lead guitarist from the band, but Tania got talking to him first and after that I didn't have a chance! After the band: a DJ playing some funky rock, and more dancing and crazyness ensued.
We stayed till about 2, when Shelly insisted we go home (rock isn't really her thing, and I bet she hated every minute since we got there, poor thing!). We said goodbye to Nic (except for Tania, who was wrapped up in her Brazilian lead guitarist, hehe) and headed home. Meanwhile, at Whelan's, my friend Ruairi had texted me inviting me to a party on at his place. Not his party, but at his house. Even though it was 2 am, I was hardly ready for the night to end, so to the horror of my flatmates I left them at Bolton Street and made my way to Ruairi's (only 5 minutes away, don't worry). I got there, said hi to Alan (who, by the way, I am on good terms with again. I still don't know exactly what happened there, as he told me he'd been angry with me and then he told me he'd never been angry with me, but that I had “changed”, whatever that means. Sure, I've changed, it's called growing up! But I got the impression he didn't particularly like who I'd changed into. Oh well, it doesn't matter, as long as we're friends again!). Alan introduced me to his friend Raymond, who happened to be from Sydney. Unusually, I didn't pick this up straight away, as his accent wasn't that strong, probably given the fact he'd spent half his life in Ireland. We chatted for a while about Life, the Universe and Everything (my favourite subjects) and then went inside to dance. The cool thing about parties at Alan's/Ruairi's is that the music is always sensational. It's always stuff I've never heard before, but it's always interesting and sometimes incredibly great.
Got sick of dancing after a bit, and went to find Ruairi (who, after all, had invited me in the first place, so only polite to say hello no? Besides, obviously, I wanted to see him!). His reaction to my presence simultaneously surprised and delighted me. He exclaimed, with fervour,
“I'm so glad you're here”, and enveloped me in a giant bear hug. Gives you the warm fuzzies, doesn't it?
We chatted for a bit, and I met Wendy, from Northern Ireland somewhere (can't remember the town unfortunately). Turns out she'd been to Australia (like every young Irish person) and had stayed in Collingwood (poor darling). And then I saw him.
My fantasy life is rich and varied, but sometimes includes a (totally fictional) tall, dark and handsome Italian named Luca. Naturally, when I saw a tall dark and handsome stranger at this party, my interest was piqued. When I found he was Italian, I was intrigued. And when he told me his name was Luca, my knees went a little wobbly and my head got a little light. Was I literally meeting the man of my dreams?
In short, before you get carried away, no. Unfortunately fantasy will always remain just that. But we had a fun conversation over red wine (me) and cigarettes (him), and at 0600 he walked me home, and the real Luca turned out to be just as good a kisser as the fantasy one! I left him at my front door, and although I gave him my number, I hold out no hope he'll ever call. If I'm honest, I have to admit that a teeny part of me hopes I never see him again. That way, he'll remain the gorgeous, mysterious semi-stranger with the magic lips forever, and I'll never learn that he snores or have to pick up his dirty shirts off the floor.
I slept a few hours until about 11 when I dragged myself out of bed and went to forage (well, to the supermarket) for food. Marie and I were feeling wrecked and therefore completely in the mood for some dreadful romantic comedies. We got three and took them home. First up in our movie marathon was “Never Been Kissed”, which I've already seen but who cares? You know what's going to happen the first time you watch it, so it doesn't make a difference how many times you've seen it! After that, for some insane reason I still don't understand, we felt the need to go to the gym (remember I'm running on four hours sleep after partying all night). But not only did we make it to the gym I actually did a pretty good workout before surrendering to the sauna. After the sauna and a hot shower I felt like a new woman, full of adrenaline and/or endorphins and generally ready to take on the world. Unfortunately, the natural high wore off on the way home and by the time I made it back to Bolton street we basically resigned ourselves to spending the rest of the night shackled to the couch.
Second on the list was one of my favourite movies growing up, “The Breakfast Club”. As we watched it again I relived my love of it as a teen and remembered all the lines that had had me on the floor with laughter. I didn't remember so much crying in it though! I had also forgotten how incredibly gorgeous Judd Nelson is in that movie. After “The Breakfast Club” we watched “Ever After”, the Cinderella story with Drew Barrymore. This movie has very little to recommend it other than the man who plays Prince Charming, but by this point my brain was so addled that was about as highbrow a movie as my cognitive processes were able to handle.
After the movie, straight to bed and out faster than the proverbial light.
Now, given Sunday was a fairly quiet and mundane sort of a day, in my current lifestyle, this means Monday was certain to be insane. It didn't disappoint.
I had let everyone know that I'd be in mid-morning on Monday because I was off to the Circuit Court to get the papers stamped so I could take my ex-boss to court for the money he owes me since last November. They had told me the court opened at 10, so I thought, fabulous! I can sleep in! About 0800 on Monday I get a text from my boss Gary. She and Una, another colleague , were off to Cork that day for a Bord Gais meeting. She texts me “Ryanair made me pay 100 euro to change my name to get on the flight”. I'm freaking out, thinking I must have made some kind of mistake when I was booking her on the flight. Turns out it's because she's using her drivers license as ID and it says “Margaret Joyce”. Even though every other card and piece of paper she owns says Gary Joyce, that's not good enough. She's never had a problem with this before, and she always uses the same ID, but everyone's extra jumpy after the foiled terrorist attacks at Heathrow. I'm sure it's just Ryanair being greedy.
Anyway, I'm off to the Circuit Court to get my court date. The Circuit Court, according to its website, is situated on Inns Quay. Inns Quay, according to the StreetFinder, does not exist. Not to worry. I'll call and ask for directions. So I call at about five to nine, not holding out much hope that anyone will pick up the phone as it's not supposed to open until 10. Miraculously someone is there and answers the phone, a totally
a) non-Irish and
b) non-government-employee attitude.
She confirms that the Circuit Court is indeed in Four Courts (I know where that is, thankfully) and says, “If you have questions, ring back in five minutes. We aren't open yet”. So I'm thinking, bollocks! They open at nine! Better get my ass down there fast!
I decide not to go out of my way to SuperValu for cash (the stamp duty on the form is 45 euro), thinking not only is there an AIB on Capel St, but that even if that is out of service (a fifty fifty chance in Dublin) there must be an ATM along the quays somewhere. I walk up to the ATM on Capel St. Out of Service. Typical. Onwards and upwards I say, and fly along the quays towards Four Courts.
On the way I call the letting agents we've been harassing about this new block of apartments on Parnell Street. Shelly and I had been looking at apartments for a couple of months, but we'd had our eyes on this building in particular. We'd called the agents every week for about two months, asking when the apartments were going to be let. We'd left our contact details at least 10 times, and finally that day we learned that they were showing the apartments and hadn't contacted us. We were furious. I called them and demanded an appointment to view the apartments. They told me all the viewings were booked for that day already. How was it then, I asked through gritted teeth, given the fact we'd called so many times, we hadn't got an appointment, while Shelly's friends, who had only called a couple of days previous, were given one? She couldn't give me a satisfactory answer, but neither could I bully her into an appointment. I called Shelly and gave her the sad news, resigned to the fact that those apartments were now lost to us forever.
No time to worry about that, and again set a course for Four Courts. No ATMs to be found anywhere. I did find an AIB, but no ATM, and if I ever find a bank here that opens at nine, I'll die of cardiac arrest due to the shock. I was still penniless when I arrived at Four Courts. Unbelievable. I race past, and finally, a few stressful minutes later, a SPAR. My prayers were finally answered when I found it to contain an Ulster Bank ATM.
Now cashed up, I go as fast as I can back towards the courts. I get past a quite lassaiz-faire security check and I make it into the heart of law and order in Dublin. The appearance of the courts took me a little by surprise. It looked like a (badly designed) public school built in the 60s and left to rot since then. All the furniture looked like it had been there for about forty years. It certainly had that funded-by-the-government-in-the-60s-el-cheapo-non-descript-brown-blob feel to it. Everything was old and manky, there packing boxes full of God knows what everywhere, and the receptionist looked twice as old as the building. I got there about half nine, and asked the receptionist where I was to get my form stamped. He directed me to the stamping office (which does indeed open at nine) and then mentioned, “Oh, well actually, I don't know if they can stamp that for you. Maybe the circuit court has their own stamping system. You will have to ask them when they open at 10”. I asked the guy in the stamping office and he said that he could stamp it, but he couldn't help me fill it out, so I would have to wait for the circuit court to open after all. So I made friends with the manky 60s blob chairs and waited it out.
Into the office at 10, where the lady told me how to fill in the form, but I didn't have the address of the company with me. Obviously I know where I used to work, but I wasn't sure if I could put that address or if I had to put the registered address of the company. I could have looked it up on the internet but they don't have internet access at Four Courts (how how how is this possible?) and the thought of wandering around all morning looking for an internet café was more than I was prepared for at that moment. I rang Shelly at work, and asked her to look it up for me. After about half an hour on the phone, Shelly was ready to cut my throat but I had the company address. I filled out the form, went downstairs to get it stamped, and 45 euro later I came back up and the lady told me my court date was October 9. Fabulous. I don't really have much faith that this is going to make him pay, but I have to do everything in my power to get this money or I'll never forgive myself. Finally I was free at about half ten (the receptionist even said, “Are you still here?”) and I began the pleasant walk in the rare Dublin sunshine towards work.
In summary:
I was woken by a scary text message from my boss
The address of the Four Courts didn't exist
The lady on the phone told me it opened at nine and it didn't
The ATM on Capel St was out of service
I had an argument with the letting agent
I couldn't find an ATM on the quays
I found on arrival that the circuit court opens at 10 as previously thought and
I spent a frantic half hour trying to get the company address,
all before 10:30 am. And the drama doesn't end there.
I was almost back at work when my mobile rings. Shelly.
“Lucia, my friends are at the Parnell Street flats. There's people handing over deposits left right and centre. You have to get your ass down there now or we're going to miss out. I would go but I'm in Blanchardstown.”
“What?? I have to go to work!! I'm already late!! And anyway they wouldn't give me an appointment.”
“Lucia for god's sake get down there. My friends will get you in. I'll give you his number. Just get in a taxi!”
So I just got in a taxi. The taxi driver was great, when I explained my situation, he didn't stay in the traffic like normal taxi drivers, but took all the back roads to get me there faster. It was the cheapest taxi ride I've ever had in Dublin. I raced out of the taxi, rang Shelly's friend, argued my way past the construction guy-turned-bouncer up to room 66 where a girl was organising the lettings. Shelly's friend Wang told me he'd reserved apartment 17 for me, and I asked to see it. One of the girls took me there (the building is a maze, and anyway we weren't supposed to be wandering around unaccompanied as it was still a construction site). It was pretty much as I had expected - two single rooms, a double, a kitchen, bathroom and living area. Not everything was working, and there was still tools and dust all over the place, but it looked nice enough. Back down to Apartment 66 where I rang Shelly and described the place to her. We decided it was great for the price, and we'd be silly not to take it. Anyway the deposit is fully refundable until the lease is signed.
I had to leave a deposit or references, and since I didn't have any references I went down to O'Connell street to my Bank of Ireland branch. It felt weird, asking for a bank draft for 1900 euro. I don't think I've ever held that much money in my hands before. I didn't have time to think about it though, flying back to the apartments to hand over half my life savings. As I got back to apartment 66, the girls from the letting agency were already telling people “Sorry, all the apartments have been let. I can put you on a waiting list in case there are any cancellations”. All the apartments on the first four floors of that enormous building had been let in two and a half hours. And the building isn't even finished! I handed over my deposit, got escorted down to the exit by a gorgeous construction guy, and hopped in another taxi back to work. By the time I got there it was 1:00 - I had taken all morning! The rest of the day was fairly low key, thank goodness, and I couldn't wait to tell Shelly the good news - we were finally moving! Now to find a flatmate...
After the gym a long, hot shower (I loooove the showers at my gym) and I made myself pretty to go out to the Karma bar and meet Nic and the others. Nic's moving (well, has moved now) to Galway and we were going out for drinks to celebrate his last night in Dublin. The Karma bar was pretty cool looking but practically devoid of people. I met Carlos, Heidi's boyfriend. He's Mexican and lots of fun, but he had a sore throat and so wasn't up for a long night. Tania, my new Russian friend came, and we caught up as we walked to Whelan's. We got there as the band (Ito) was still playing, and we managed to sneak in to hear the last few songs. They were pretty good, and had a totally cool retro vibe. We danced lots and drank a bit, and generally went mad. I had my eye on the lead guitarist from the band, but Tania got talking to him first and after that I didn't have a chance! After the band: a DJ playing some funky rock, and more dancing and crazyness ensued.
We stayed till about 2, when Shelly insisted we go home (rock isn't really her thing, and I bet she hated every minute since we got there, poor thing!). We said goodbye to Nic (except for Tania, who was wrapped up in her Brazilian lead guitarist, hehe) and headed home. Meanwhile, at Whelan's, my friend Ruairi had texted me inviting me to a party on at his place. Not his party, but at his house. Even though it was 2 am, I was hardly ready for the night to end, so to the horror of my flatmates I left them at Bolton Street and made my way to Ruairi's (only 5 minutes away, don't worry). I got there, said hi to Alan (who, by the way, I am on good terms with again. I still don't know exactly what happened there, as he told me he'd been angry with me and then he told me he'd never been angry with me, but that I had “changed”, whatever that means. Sure, I've changed, it's called growing up! But I got the impression he didn't particularly like who I'd changed into. Oh well, it doesn't matter, as long as we're friends again!). Alan introduced me to his friend Raymond, who happened to be from Sydney. Unusually, I didn't pick this up straight away, as his accent wasn't that strong, probably given the fact he'd spent half his life in Ireland. We chatted for a while about Life, the Universe and Everything (my favourite subjects) and then went inside to dance. The cool thing about parties at Alan's/Ruairi's is that the music is always sensational. It's always stuff I've never heard before, but it's always interesting and sometimes incredibly great.
Got sick of dancing after a bit, and went to find Ruairi (who, after all, had invited me in the first place, so only polite to say hello no? Besides, obviously, I wanted to see him!). His reaction to my presence simultaneously surprised and delighted me. He exclaimed, with fervour,
“I'm so glad you're here”, and enveloped me in a giant bear hug. Gives you the warm fuzzies, doesn't it?
We chatted for a bit, and I met Wendy, from Northern Ireland somewhere (can't remember the town unfortunately). Turns out she'd been to Australia (like every young Irish person) and had stayed in Collingwood (poor darling). And then I saw him.
My fantasy life is rich and varied, but sometimes includes a (totally fictional) tall, dark and handsome Italian named Luca. Naturally, when I saw a tall dark and handsome stranger at this party, my interest was piqued. When I found he was Italian, I was intrigued. And when he told me his name was Luca, my knees went a little wobbly and my head got a little light. Was I literally meeting the man of my dreams?
In short, before you get carried away, no. Unfortunately fantasy will always remain just that. But we had a fun conversation over red wine (me) and cigarettes (him), and at 0600 he walked me home, and the real Luca turned out to be just as good a kisser as the fantasy one! I left him at my front door, and although I gave him my number, I hold out no hope he'll ever call. If I'm honest, I have to admit that a teeny part of me hopes I never see him again. That way, he'll remain the gorgeous, mysterious semi-stranger with the magic lips forever, and I'll never learn that he snores or have to pick up his dirty shirts off the floor.
I slept a few hours until about 11 when I dragged myself out of bed and went to forage (well, to the supermarket) for food. Marie and I were feeling wrecked and therefore completely in the mood for some dreadful romantic comedies. We got three and took them home. First up in our movie marathon was “Never Been Kissed”, which I've already seen but who cares? You know what's going to happen the first time you watch it, so it doesn't make a difference how many times you've seen it! After that, for some insane reason I still don't understand, we felt the need to go to the gym (remember I'm running on four hours sleep after partying all night). But not only did we make it to the gym I actually did a pretty good workout before surrendering to the sauna. After the sauna and a hot shower I felt like a new woman, full of adrenaline and/or endorphins and generally ready to take on the world. Unfortunately, the natural high wore off on the way home and by the time I made it back to Bolton street we basically resigned ourselves to spending the rest of the night shackled to the couch.
Second on the list was one of my favourite movies growing up, “The Breakfast Club”. As we watched it again I relived my love of it as a teen and remembered all the lines that had had me on the floor with laughter. I didn't remember so much crying in it though! I had also forgotten how incredibly gorgeous Judd Nelson is in that movie. After “The Breakfast Club” we watched “Ever After”, the Cinderella story with Drew Barrymore. This movie has very little to recommend it other than the man who plays Prince Charming, but by this point my brain was so addled that was about as highbrow a movie as my cognitive processes were able to handle.
After the movie, straight to bed and out faster than the proverbial light.
Now, given Sunday was a fairly quiet and mundane sort of a day, in my current lifestyle, this means Monday was certain to be insane. It didn't disappoint.
I had let everyone know that I'd be in mid-morning on Monday because I was off to the Circuit Court to get the papers stamped so I could take my ex-boss to court for the money he owes me since last November. They had told me the court opened at 10, so I thought, fabulous! I can sleep in! About 0800 on Monday I get a text from my boss Gary. She and Una, another colleague , were off to Cork that day for a Bord Gais meeting. She texts me “Ryanair made me pay 100 euro to change my name to get on the flight”. I'm freaking out, thinking I must have made some kind of mistake when I was booking her on the flight. Turns out it's because she's using her drivers license as ID and it says “Margaret Joyce”. Even though every other card and piece of paper she owns says Gary Joyce, that's not good enough. She's never had a problem with this before, and she always uses the same ID, but everyone's extra jumpy after the foiled terrorist attacks at Heathrow. I'm sure it's just Ryanair being greedy.
Anyway, I'm off to the Circuit Court to get my court date. The Circuit Court, according to its website, is situated on Inns Quay. Inns Quay, according to the StreetFinder, does not exist. Not to worry. I'll call and ask for directions. So I call at about five to nine, not holding out much hope that anyone will pick up the phone as it's not supposed to open until 10. Miraculously someone is there and answers the phone, a totally
a) non-Irish and
b) non-government-employee attitude.
She confirms that the Circuit Court is indeed in Four Courts (I know where that is, thankfully) and says, “If you have questions, ring back in five minutes. We aren't open yet”. So I'm thinking, bollocks! They open at nine! Better get my ass down there fast!
I decide not to go out of my way to SuperValu for cash (the stamp duty on the form is 45 euro), thinking not only is there an AIB on Capel St, but that even if that is out of service (a fifty fifty chance in Dublin) there must be an ATM along the quays somewhere. I walk up to the ATM on Capel St. Out of Service. Typical. Onwards and upwards I say, and fly along the quays towards Four Courts.
On the way I call the letting agents we've been harassing about this new block of apartments on Parnell Street. Shelly and I had been looking at apartments for a couple of months, but we'd had our eyes on this building in particular. We'd called the agents every week for about two months, asking when the apartments were going to be let. We'd left our contact details at least 10 times, and finally that day we learned that they were showing the apartments and hadn't contacted us. We were furious. I called them and demanded an appointment to view the apartments. They told me all the viewings were booked for that day already. How was it then, I asked through gritted teeth, given the fact we'd called so many times, we hadn't got an appointment, while Shelly's friends, who had only called a couple of days previous, were given one? She couldn't give me a satisfactory answer, but neither could I bully her into an appointment. I called Shelly and gave her the sad news, resigned to the fact that those apartments were now lost to us forever.
No time to worry about that, and again set a course for Four Courts. No ATMs to be found anywhere. I did find an AIB, but no ATM, and if I ever find a bank here that opens at nine, I'll die of cardiac arrest due to the shock. I was still penniless when I arrived at Four Courts. Unbelievable. I race past, and finally, a few stressful minutes later, a SPAR. My prayers were finally answered when I found it to contain an Ulster Bank ATM.
Now cashed up, I go as fast as I can back towards the courts. I get past a quite lassaiz-faire security check and I make it into the heart of law and order in Dublin. The appearance of the courts took me a little by surprise. It looked like a (badly designed) public school built in the 60s and left to rot since then. All the furniture looked like it had been there for about forty years. It certainly had that funded-by-the-government-in-the-60s-el-cheapo-non-descript-brown-blob feel to it. Everything was old and manky, there packing boxes full of God knows what everywhere, and the receptionist looked twice as old as the building. I got there about half nine, and asked the receptionist where I was to get my form stamped. He directed me to the stamping office (which does indeed open at nine) and then mentioned, “Oh, well actually, I don't know if they can stamp that for you. Maybe the circuit court has their own stamping system. You will have to ask them when they open at 10”. I asked the guy in the stamping office and he said that he could stamp it, but he couldn't help me fill it out, so I would have to wait for the circuit court to open after all. So I made friends with the manky 60s blob chairs and waited it out.
Into the office at 10, where the lady told me how to fill in the form, but I didn't have the address of the company with me. Obviously I know where I used to work, but I wasn't sure if I could put that address or if I had to put the registered address of the company. I could have looked it up on the internet but they don't have internet access at Four Courts (how how how is this possible?) and the thought of wandering around all morning looking for an internet café was more than I was prepared for at that moment. I rang Shelly at work, and asked her to look it up for me. After about half an hour on the phone, Shelly was ready to cut my throat but I had the company address. I filled out the form, went downstairs to get it stamped, and 45 euro later I came back up and the lady told me my court date was October 9. Fabulous. I don't really have much faith that this is going to make him pay, but I have to do everything in my power to get this money or I'll never forgive myself. Finally I was free at about half ten (the receptionist even said, “Are you still here?”) and I began the pleasant walk in the rare Dublin sunshine towards work.
In summary:
I was woken by a scary text message from my boss
The address of the Four Courts didn't exist
The lady on the phone told me it opened at nine and it didn't
The ATM on Capel St was out of service
I had an argument with the letting agent
I couldn't find an ATM on the quays
I found on arrival that the circuit court opens at 10 as previously thought and
I spent a frantic half hour trying to get the company address,
all before 10:30 am. And the drama doesn't end there.
I was almost back at work when my mobile rings. Shelly.
“Lucia, my friends are at the Parnell Street flats. There's people handing over deposits left right and centre. You have to get your ass down there now or we're going to miss out. I would go but I'm in Blanchardstown.”
“What?? I have to go to work!! I'm already late!! And anyway they wouldn't give me an appointment.”
“Lucia for god's sake get down there. My friends will get you in. I'll give you his number. Just get in a taxi!”
So I just got in a taxi. The taxi driver was great, when I explained my situation, he didn't stay in the traffic like normal taxi drivers, but took all the back roads to get me there faster. It was the cheapest taxi ride I've ever had in Dublin. I raced out of the taxi, rang Shelly's friend, argued my way past the construction guy-turned-bouncer up to room 66 where a girl was organising the lettings. Shelly's friend Wang told me he'd reserved apartment 17 for me, and I asked to see it. One of the girls took me there (the building is a maze, and anyway we weren't supposed to be wandering around unaccompanied as it was still a construction site). It was pretty much as I had expected - two single rooms, a double, a kitchen, bathroom and living area. Not everything was working, and there was still tools and dust all over the place, but it looked nice enough. Back down to Apartment 66 where I rang Shelly and described the place to her. We decided it was great for the price, and we'd be silly not to take it. Anyway the deposit is fully refundable until the lease is signed.
I had to leave a deposit or references, and since I didn't have any references I went down to O'Connell street to my Bank of Ireland branch. It felt weird, asking for a bank draft for 1900 euro. I don't think I've ever held that much money in my hands before. I didn't have time to think about it though, flying back to the apartments to hand over half my life savings. As I got back to apartment 66, the girls from the letting agency were already telling people “Sorry, all the apartments have been let. I can put you on a waiting list in case there are any cancellations”. All the apartments on the first four floors of that enormous building had been let in two and a half hours. And the building isn't even finished! I handed over my deposit, got escorted down to the exit by a gorgeous construction guy, and hopped in another taxi back to work. By the time I got there it was 1:00 - I had taken all morning! The rest of the day was fairly low key, thank goodness, and I couldn't wait to tell Shelly the good news - we were finally moving! Now to find a flatmate...
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