So, I miss the 7.30pm Aircoach to Bray after arriving back following the 4-0 football lesson in Gdansk.
“Not to worry,” I say. “It’s Friday night. I’ll grab a pint and watch the first half of England v Sweden” which kicks off at 7.45.
The old bar in the hall of Terminal 1 has closed so I head upstairs to the ‘bar’ in the Food Hall upstairs. I don’t spot any draught beer, only bottles, so I cut my losses and settle for a McDonalds chicken thingy instead.
As I finish I note that the match is about to start across the way so I grab a McFlurry and head over to the screen where there are about a dozen people watching.
I am greeted by a DAA lady with a mop. “You can’t come in here.”
I stop, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
“This area is closed for me to clean up.”
“But,” I gesture to the people sitting in front of the TV, “I only want to see the match.”
“They were in earlier and ordered a drink. You can’t come in.”
What a way for Dublin Airport to treat a customer. I had just been getting over the Spain result and tactics. Standing in the middle of 20,000+ loyal Irish fans, who to a man and woman passionately sang The Fields of Athenry while four nil down, had been one of the emotional highs of a life long football infatuation.
We’d received a fantastic and warm welcome from the good burghers of Gdansk. Unfortunately, much less so back at Dublin Airport.
So, I miss the 7.30pm Aircoach to Bray after arriving back following the 4-0 football lesson in Gdansk.
“Not to worry,” I say. “It’s Friday night. I’ll grab a pint and watch the first half of England v Sweden” which kicks off at 7.45.
The old bar in the hall of Terminal 1 has closed so I head upstairs to the ‘bar’ in the Food Hall upstairs. I don’t spot any draught beer, only bottles, so I cut my losses and settle for a McDonalds chicken thingy instead.
As I finish I note that the match is about to start across the way so I grab a McFlurry and head over to the screen where there are about a dozen people watching.
I am greeted by a DAA lady with a mop. “You can’t come in here.”
I stop, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
“This area is closed for me to clean up.”
“But,” I gesture to the people sitting in front of the TV, “I only want to see the match.”
“They were in earlier and ordered a drink. You can’t come in.”
What a way for Dublin Airport to treat a customer. I had just been getting over the Spain result and tactics. Standing in the middle of 20,000+ loyal Irish fans, who to a man and woman passionately sang The Fields of Athenry while four nil down, had been one of the emotional highs of a life long football infatuation.
We’d received a fantastic and warm welcome from the good burghers of Gdansk. Unfortunately, much less so back at Dublin Airport.
