Whoa, Danny Boy. Pipe down those pipes!

It was St. Patrick’s Day this past Wednesday, that magical time of year when people get drunk before noon and New Yorkers actually wear something other than black. March 17 brings idle talk of clovers and rainbows in celebration of….what are we celebrating exactly? Aw…it doesn’t matter. It’s Irish, it’s festive and it’s a great excuse for a party.
New Yorkers celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. The parade is a big deal in this town. There are no floats, no costumes, and the bands are small and lack batons. Basically, the parade consists of waves and waves of Irish American New Yorkers walking down 42nd. That’s not a parade. That’s a typical Thursday.
No matter, New Yorkers are proud of their parade. When my morning CP group found out the parade started in front of my office, they were very excited. “That’s fantastic,” they said. I told them I had actually been to the parade as a tourist and was not impressed. “Well,” Bill said, “it’s no Macy’s.” Exactly.
On my walk into work I passed dozens of large Irish flags and bright green lights shining from every light post. The parade kicked off at 10, but the jarring sounds of bagpipes were already blaring through the office when I arrived at 8:30. By 9:30, the drums had kicked up and the poor guys in sales had to yell into their headsets to be heard above the clamor. The whole thing escalated throughout the morning to a dull roar. It fed my excitement, though, and every so often I would glance down 8 floors to watch the groups of Irish merge into formation.
At lunch, I decided to venture out to see some of the parade. The crowd was thick around noon, but I managed to weave through them and gain a decent view. I bored of the lines of Irish after about three minutes and decided to set out for some food. As I maneuvered through the crowd I noticed something strange. Everyone I came in contact with apologized to me. “Sorry.” “Oh! I’m sorry.” The “sorrys” buzzed in my ear like gnats. I didn’t understand at first, but realized later they were probably tourists and not used to constant human contact. It’s just a theory, of course. It might also be that well whiskey makes people exceedingly polite – who knows?
Anyhoo – I tried to make my way to 42nd, but police had blocked it off. I could get out, but I wouldn’t be able to get back. As I made my way past groups of high school students* chanting “USA”** I ran into a woman distributing green flowers. I took one for myself and some for co-workers. She was very sweet and was standing outside an already over-flowing Irish pub. I made my way towards Madison and was affronted by the overwhelming smell of beer. It was as if the entire street had turned into the basement of a frat party. I’m certainly not one to throw stones, but was turned off by the putrid smell of beer – both going in and going out – and did another about-face from the crowd.
I got a quick salad at a deli near the office and almost ran into a girl being held up by a man on either arm. It wasn’t even 1:00 and she literally could not stand up – a classic example of too much of a good thing. As I got back to 5th, an overweight 6’4” man dressed as a giant leprechaun asked me how to get to the parade. I guess maybe there were costumes. I stand corrected.
Throughout the day, people in the office would return from the festivities with stories. Here are some of the gems:
- Marissa, a sweet woman with a big personality and hair to match, claimed she saw a topless woman in an alley doing cartwheels. I was not able to confirm this claim, but even if Marissa was exaggerating, I’ll give her credit for originality.
- Damon, an Irish sales guy who sits directly behind me, said he saw a girl who couldn’t have been more than 15 wearing a shirt that said, “get me drunk” on the front and “enjoy the show” on the back. That’s the thing about St. Patrick’s Day – it lacks the refinement and sophistication of other holidays – like Mardi Gras.
- Alex, a younger woman who works in my department, said she passed a port-a-potty with a man screaming non-stop from within. She was on the phone with her mom at the time and her mom grew very concerned. “Get out of there Alex” she yelled into the phone, “be safe, those people are crazy!”

St. Patrick’s Day does bring out a bit of the crazy in everyone, but that’s part of the fun. By the time work let out and I rode the subway home, the environment felt significantly less frantic. It was a gorgeous day and Riverside Park was crowded with a much more sober crowd. After dinner, I went over to Amsterdam to a nice Irish pub that was doing a good business. I ordered a whiskey and ended up talking mostly to the bartender, the only one (aside from myself) who could actually still speak in full, coherent sentences. These people had been going all day, and there was no way I was going to catch up. I paid for my drink, tipped generously, and made my way home.
All in all, it was a good holiday. I wore my green, listened to enough bagpipes to last me a year, and had a nice smooth Jameson to top off the day. When these Irish eyes shut for the night, they were definitely smiling.

*Is St. Patrick’s Day a school holiday now? The median age in mid-town midday was about 14.
** Did these kids know what this holiday was about? Maybe they needed some more school time and a less school-ditching-beer-drinking time.