Three Tim Stories

On the heels of that Tim story, I thought I would add three more of the last three days to really flesh out his character. He is after all the first Irish person I have at least somewhat gotten to know. And he’s a riot.

The night I moved in Megan and Mel came to visit me and ‘Christen’ the new apartment. Of course, coming back from city centre for the first time after dark, I got us lost and we didn’t even make it to my place until way past one am. Then we drank two bottles of the cheapest white wine imaginable which tasted like apple juice. Eventually my eyes started to close, despite Megan telling a hilarious story about how her cat died. But I wasn’t about to let two drunk, disoriented girls wander all the way back to the North side of the Liffey that late at night, so I insisted we’d call them a cab. Mel suggested that they just sleep on the bed in the empty apartment next to mine, which I allowed, as long as they left early so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I heard them talking and giggling for awhile and thought back to Artz Haus. After having drifted off I am awoken at some point by both of them standing over my bed. “It’s really cold in the other room with no blankets. Can we jump in with you?” “Of course,” I mutter. “Just let me put some pants on.” So the three of us piled into my double bed, and I ended up almost pushed right off.

All of that was to explain that I didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. The girls left early, and I went back to bed. Then I got on Tim about getting me an internet connection, which he had promised. He came down from his office (I saw him in a suit for the first time! It’s like seeing your parents unexpectedly at work!) and ended up kidnapping my computer for almost an hour trying to hook it up to the office’s internet. Eventually, he said it was connected, but it didn’t work. But he told me about how I could maybe get a broadband thingy, if I couldn’t wait the week it would take them to set up the internet in the basement (I couldn’t). So I promptly went downtown to see about a broadband thingy cause I really wanted to talk to my parents on skype, and feel connected to all my friends on facebook.

The woman at the vodofone explained everything about the broadband thingy to me (even how expensive it would be, which I didn’t care about, so much was my need for connectivity) but saved the little fact that I needed a bank account to get one till the end. Not having one yet, I wandered away broadbandless. Then I bought a coffee at a cafe wanting to use their connection, but it didn’t work. Then I wandered into St. Stephen’s park and had a little cry sitting under a tree (this is what I do in Dublin apparently; go into parks for public cries) and Megan called my cell about a book she may have left in my room and told me to not upset myself with such silly things. Then I went back to Ranelagh and went into ANOTHER coffee shop where again my laptop didn’t want to be compatible with their wifi. So I gave up and shelled out the two euros at the internet cafe across the street and wrote an angry email to my parents.

When I buzzed back to my room after that I discovered an orange wire dangling through my window: Tim had lowered it from the upstairs window so I would be able to hook it up to my computer and have internet access until we got everything worked out. I almost jumped for joy.
Okay, the other two are quick. I left the house after dinner last night to go to the local pub and hopefully chat with people about the neighbourhood (that was a bust! Not even the bartender struck up a conversation with me!). But as I went to let myself out I discovered I was locked in. See, the Zimbabwean guy who rents the office in the front of basement had locked the door on his way out and there’s something wrong with my key which makes it jam when trying to unlock the door from the inside. I tried several times until I tried to go out the back. Turns out the close the big black gates in the back parking lot when everyone goes home, so I was actually trapped in my house.

Naturally, I phoned Tim, quite humiliated. “Hey Tim, are you still upstairs? I seem to be locked in the basement.” “Now how did you manage that, Max?” he asked. There’s no way in writing to really portray his exact tone of voice. “I’ll be right down.” Then I got it working myself and phoned him back and apologized.

Then today I was having my dinner of microwavable Uncle Ben’s and watching ‘The Golden Girls’ when Tim calls me. “Hey Max, listen; would you do me a large favour. There’s a fellow who’s shown up to look at the other apartment. He’s come early, and I’m still with a client. Would you mind letting him in and showing him around? He’s French, his name’s Cyril.” “Sure Tim...”

So I showed Cyril the apartment. Explained how the water heater works. Told him about how I just figured out how to use the clothes washer. Informed him that it was quite quiet here as both our windows only looked out the back. He works long hours and needs lots of sleep so he likes he’s quiet. (If he does take the apartment, let’s hope he doesn’t need too much quiet). But he cooks, which is always useful. Then Cyril and I stood around awkwardly making conversation until Tim rushed in an eternity later. “So sorry I’m late!” I went back to my ‘Golden Girls’ as Tim explained some other stuff about the apartment, until it came time for Cyril to leave. As they were about to go I heard Tim say from the hall, “Oh no, the lock’s stuck!”