I’ve never been to Trinity Irish Pub before. But I turn 21 this summer and I’m looking forward to entering the establishment for the first time when I come back. Based on the accounts of my friends, I think it’ll go something like this:
I approach the bouncer. I give him my ID, and he says something like “oh wow a real one.” I wonder how he knows I’ve been keeping it real since day one when we’ve just met, but he must see it in my eyes.
My prediction of what I see when I enter is a little hazy because no one has ever described to me what the actual interior of Trinity looks like. If you ever hear anyone talk about Trinity’s furnishings or decorations let me know. I’ll just describe what I know will be there:
Bodies. My sources guarantee that there will be a large conglomeration of limbs and heads writhing against one another. I’ll turn to whoever is next to me (because apparently there’s always someone next to you there), and I’ll make a comparison to a can of sardines because we’re all so crammed together. He won’t be impressed by my clever metaphor though, because he will be performing the “grinding” motion with another patron of the bar as I hear they tend to do. My reference will go unheard of because of the ...
Music. Apparently, it’s loud in Trinity. This may complicate the pre-planned conversations I’ve prepared to use when I interact with potential soulmates at the bar. I was planning on discussing how Trinity is an Irish bar and how I’m an Irish guy and how I wanted to embrace my heritage as I celebrate returning to U.Va. as a 21-year-old. I’ll probably have to improvise and say something simpler like “I’ve never been covered in so much ...
Sweat.” At this point I will be drenched in my own sweat and secondhand sweat from the people around me. This will be the case even though I won’t dance because there’s not enough space to swing dance, which I practiced all summer for this exact occasion. Whenever I ask a girl if she wants to dance she does this weird thing where she turns around but she doesn’t walk away so I’m staring at the back of her head, and I don’t know what to do because the follow isn’t supposed to turn around in swing dancing. Since she’s not looking I just walk away without saying bye and slink over to the bar because at least the bartender faces people.
At this point I might have a creeping sense of disappointment. After refusing to buy a drink because they don’t accept Plus Dollars I’ll sit on the barstool (if Trinity has barstools, I honestly do not know) and look at the crowd. I will also discover that everyone in the know calls it “Trin” and not “Trinity Irish Pub.” Sweaty and sober, I’ll notice the staircase and seek asylum on Trin’s third floor. I know in Alderman Library the highest floor is the most tranquil, I assume it’s the same here.
No one has successfully described the third floor of Trin to me without bursting out laughing. I actually have no idea what happens there but I have reason to believe it is of a libidinous nature. If this is the case, I will retreat to the bar and purchase and consume alcoholic beverages to eradicate whatever horrors I may encounter on that third floor. I may visit the second floor because I’ve never heard anyone mention the second floor and it really doesn’t look like the building has three stories. As I roam Trin I notice many of the patrons look young and I don’t recognize any of my third- and fourth-year friends in the crowd. I never realized I was so unconnected with my class and my surprisingly youthful looking peers who still ask for directions for some weird reason.
At this point I will leave the establishment. I will make eye contact with the bouncer as I leave and do the acknowledgment nod but he will not return the nod. I’ll go home and plan my excursion the next night to Boyl — wait did I forget my jacket?
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