Erin Expressed

Erin Express is perhaps the saddest holiday celebrated by my generation. For those too cool to acknowledge that you know exactly what Erin Express is, it is a day where college students and still-irresponsible young professionals wake up early the Saturday before St. Patty’s Day and get wasted at a variety of Irish pubs. This day is also sometimes called “St. Practice Day,” as if you need to practice your shitfaced waddle, and keeping down everything you ate during the 8am “Keggs and Eggs Party.”

I had the pleasure of working the front desk Saturday morning, and at 9am I bid farewell to a harem of girls dressed in green terrycloth dresses and green eyeliner shamrock tattoos. They looked beautiful, and I’m glad they didn’t wear coats so that I could see more of their outfits. They were home and passed out by 3. lightweights.

My favorite Erin Express memory this year (which I’ll cherish because so many will not have any memory of this day), was when I was walking to the library around 2pm. A girl was crying because she had peed on her own Uggs while a Public Safety officer tried to pull her out of a bush, in front of the library’s giant glass windows, which face Market Street.

Like maybe I’m a dowdy old hag who would rather work on her research papers than rehash stout and scrambled eggs, but isn’t this holiday a wee bit silly?

(Get it? Wee?)

Erin Express is kinda cheap and trashy if done right, but if you’re looking for something for uncool people- you’ll find me doing $5 carbombs at J.L. Sullivan’s this Tuesday after work, in my sensible heels and slacks.

1 comment:

Conor said...

OK, you made the feed list, this was fucking awesome.