Irish-style.

Last night as I was basking in the glow of Bill Clinton's speech at the Democratic National Convention, I rolled down the windows in my car to breathe in the late summer air and remind myself how great this country is, or how great it could be. I was stopped at the light at Manchaca, NPR cranked up in the aftermath of Night 3 of the event, slowing coming back to life from the mind-numbing business trip I had just returned from, when I faintly heard what seemed like someone trying to talk to me from outside the car. I looked to my left. Sure enough, there was a young man in his car next to me, with his passenger side window rolled down, looking at me expectantly. I turned the radio down.

"HEY! You're really cute."

He was about 23 and grinning from ear to ear, so utterly thrilled with life and with paying me this compliment that I was taken aback. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me. Well, not anymore.

"Wow. Thanks!" I replied, utterly surprised.

"No, really, I just had to tell you, you're really cute."

"Um, okay, thanks. Wow."

It was a little bit too enthusiastic, and I wondered for a fleeting second if I was being punked.

"Do you think we could, like, go out sometime?"

I stifled my guffaw. "Uh, no."

"Aw man, why not?"

"Because I have a boyfriend."

"Man. How'd he get you?"

I paused. The answer was simple. "Well, he's kind of a genius, and that's what I go for."

The boy peered at me. "I'll bet you're a genius too."

I played along. "Well, yeah, I suppose I am."

"Well you know what baby, I'm a genius TOO."

I was puzzled at this point. This guy was way too excited, way to eager to entreat a stranger, way too flush with energy and good vibes for a Wednesday night on Manchaca. And I didn't look that cute, anyway. It seemed like something out of a movie. I was seriously waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop up in the backseat.

"Hey, are you Irish?" he asked, attempting to keep up the conversation while the light was still red.

"Yes," I lied. I'm not fully Irish, a quarter is more like it, but with my red hair and freckles it's just easier to say yes.

"ME TOO, BABY! And look, I'm packin', IRISH-STYLE!"

With that, he triumphantly held up a bottle of Boone's Farm and a six pack of beer from the passenger seat and as the light turned green, he was gone, the paper license plate to his new car flapping in his exhaust. I sat there for 5 full seconds with my mouth wide open. This guy was not just friendly, he was totally wasted. Like an alcoholic, he was completely outside the bounds of the social norms of his personality. Yet there he was, out in the world, on his way somewhere. I hope he made it. It certainly gave me a laugh last night, but today it's left me with a shudder.