Thank God for Eggs

I’ve always been a firm believer of the idea that things happen for a reason.  No matter how difficult or upsetting a circumstance may seem, I can normally reflect back upon it and understand why it had to happen.  After all, life is just a series of experiences.  It’s the “messy bits” that we tend to learn the most from.

Listowel is a town that I feel incredibly safe in.  I can go jogging at night without fear (which is something I probably wouldn’t do in Kentucky).  However, Limerick does not have such a safe reputation.  When I decided to spend the weekend there with my girlfriends from back home, the teachers at school all warned me to be careful.  “Make sure you girls stick together, now,” they cautioned.  How bad could it be? I wondered.

Friday evening we caught the bus from Listowel to Limerick.  We should have known there would be trouble when an intoxicated man holding a beer can set next to us.  I won’t bore you with his drunken ramblings, but let’s just say we quickly became his target for harassment until the next stop twenty minutes away.  I think everyone on the bus breathed a sigh of relief when he got off the bus.  A pretty blonde girl around our age looked at us, mortified, and asked, “Are you girls okay?  I promise not all Irish people are like that.”  I assured her that this was the first time I had encountered anyone like that in three months of being in Ireland. 

We all felt a little irked afterwards, but did our best to shake it off when we finally arrived in Limerick.  After settling into our hotel room a couple miles outside the city center, we realized how hungry we were.  The bus stop was only a short walk away and, although it was dark, it still wasn’t too late.  We decided to not allow a drunken fool ruin our night, so we took off for the stop.  We sat down on the bench and the sky seemed to be a lot darker than it was before—we were the only people in sight.  Suddenly a car with three teenage boys pulled up to the stop.  They rolled down their windows and I felt something hard hit my shin.  What was it?  A block of ice?  A rock?  I looked down and saw a smashed egg’s yolk running down both my legs.  I’m not sure who looked more surprised, us or them.  Were they disappointed by our lack of reaction, or could they, themselves, not believe what they had just done?  They quickly spun away as I silently kicked the lingering shell from my boots.  Then I reacted in a way that I had not expected—I laughed.  And once I started, I couldn’t stop.  My friends cracked up (excuse the pun) too as we crossed the road and started walking toward the gas station down the road.  We soon saw the bus approach the stop, but by that time it was too late to catch it.

We had nearly reached the gas station when a group of about ten men in their twenties approached on the other side of the road.  Their whistles and shouts of approval were enough to send us into a sprint the rest of the way to the station.  Inside and safe, I wiped the yolk from myself and the station attendant called a cab for us—the feeling of security was well worth the cost. 

I keep replaying that night over and over in my head.  My friend said, “Maybe that egg was a blessing in disguise.”  And you know something?  I think she’s right.  Maybe we weren’t meant to get on that bus—a much worse fate could have been waiting for us at the next stop.  Or, perhaps, the egg was a way to get us on the other side of the road and away from the group of hooting men.  So instead of feeling angry when I look down at the egg-shaped bruise that still remains on my shin, I thank God.

 Limerick is not at all intimidating during the day!  Quite pretty.