This week's column in The Kerryman newspaper.
Michael Commane
It’s against my religion to take a taxi. I don’t consider myself mean, I like to think I’m frugal.
When I say it’s against my religion it does not mean I never hail a taxi; and anyway, I’m not a stickler on religious rules and regulations.
I have a car, which I seldom drive; it means most of the time I either travel on public transport or on my rothar.
Last week I was heading from Dublin City Centre to Heuston Station. In the distance I see an S2 bus pulling out from the stop. I run in front of the bus, the driver kindly stops for me. Jump on and thank him, he is a friendly man but no doubt he breaks the rules doing what he does.
It’s an approximate 30-minute bus ride to Heuston Station. Fifteen minutes into the journey the bus goes off the route, turning left rather than going on straight.
Clown that I am, think he may be a new driver and took a wrong turn. Nothing of the sort; I realise I’m not on the S2 but the 82. They look alike in the distance.
Guess what, as soon as I tell him my story he pulls up and lets me off, not a bus stop in sight. I run back to the correct route, see an S2 coming, hail, and bus stops, again no stop in sight. My chaos is tiring but good fun, it suits me. Get to Heuston on time for train to Tralee.
Three days later there’s more drama; I arrive at Heuston at 11.04pm, missing the S2 by four minutes.
Jump on a Luas hoping to catch up with the S2 I missed. The S2 takes a circuitous route that allows the Luas to arrive at St James Hospital much quicker than the S2.
Get off the Luas at the hospital; as I’m running to the next bus stop the S2 I earlier missed passes. I put out my hand but to no avail. I can’t complain, though I think I did mutter something to myself, which was awful of me to do.
This is the time to take a taxi but I refuse to give in to the temptation. The next and last S2 arrives on time, 30 minutes later, relief. We’re off and just one more bus to take. But I miss that connection.
It’s past midnight. I could wait another half hour for an all-night bus or could walk the four kilometres.
Just as I think of hailing a taxi I see a young man exit a Garda station; cheekily I approach him and ask if there’s any chance he would give me a lift. He looks me up and down, quizzingly asks me where I am going, tells me to jump in, and quickly, as he is in a hurry. I jump in and end up only having to walk approximately one kilometre.
Imagine had I taken a taxi from Heuston how boring it would all have been.
I’m wondering might the young man have been a detective.
Living on the edge has many disadvantages but it can at times be great fun, exhausting and troublesome too, even lonely. Can get me into trouble too. So what.
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