Susan Keezer: Dublin

Getting through Dublin, Ireland, to reach a certain road to locate a small village to find a house I had rented seemed futile. It appeared that red lights meant cars might stop, cars might slowly roll through the red lights, or, cars that did stop might be rear-ended to bolt through the lights.

I fell into that last category. Next, a series of one-way streets and my inability to spin my head 360 degrees brought me to a narrow street.

My rental car was probably the smallest vehicle produced in a three-foot-high Lego factory.

With a drunken nod to safety, the car’s designers had appended side mirrors usually found on 48-wheelers in the U.S. I suspected my car looked a lot like a red beetle with huge side eyes.

This event took place long before you could put directions on your mobile phone because there were no mobile phones. I had a list of streets I had to negotiate to get out of Dublin to reach the village of Castletownsend.

Here I was on this two-way street with cars parked on both sides of it. I had no idea where I was.

If anything larger than a toad came toward me, I would have to reverse back into the mayhem I had just left.

I took the offensive and decided to inch forward figuring if I reached the middle of the street first, any oncoming traffic would, for the sake of courtesy, have to back out to let me through.

I carefully proceeded at about six miles per hour to try to avoid striking any of the cars innocently parked on either side of me.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

I could hear clinking and crashing and sounds of metal striking metal as I inched my way along.

If you’ve attended live theater, you may have seen a certain gambit called a “freeze,” where the cast all stop what they are doing on cue until told to start moving again.

In sync with this metallic orchestration, I looked on either side of me to see all the pedestrians frozen mid-stride and gazing at me. I stopped the car and sat there, paralyzed with indecision.

Then came a tapping on my window. I was afraid to turn lest I see Poe’s “Raven” tapping away. No, a woman was standing there looking in at me. I slowly rolled down the window and looked back at her.

“I believe these are yours,” she said and held out a variety of metal parts. Two hub caps, a side mirror and a couple of things I didn’t recognize but feared came from another car.

I hurriedly grabbed them and threw them into the backseat.

“I do not know what to do,” I whispered to her, looking around her at the actors behind her.

“Just keep driving,” she said. “Just keep driving.”

I didn’t know if her urgency was to protect further damage to my car or to protect the cars belonging to the Dubliners. I took her advice and sped off at nine miles per hour. I turned off at the next street and drove a couple of blocks before pulling over to park and collect my battered wits.

Suddenly, another tap at my window. I looked to find a wrinkled elderly lady smiling at me and indicating I was to roll down my window. I did so and she chirped at me, “Jeanette, how good it is to see you again. It’s been such a long time, hasn’t it?”

I started to explain that I wasn’t Jeanette when a man showed up and said, “Now Mother, you mustn’t bother the lady, this isn’t your friend.” He asked me where I was going, and I explained my plight and that I feared the Dublin police might be looking for me.

He knew exactly where I was trying to go and offered to drive my car to the right road — some dodgy six blocks away.

I didn’t hesitate. I got in the back seat of my car, he put his mother in the front seat and then we drove his mother to his car where he locked her inside.

Now I am in the backseat of my car with a perfect stranger driving me to the road I needed. For all I knew he was a serial hijacker of cars driven by ignorant American women.

Was that really his mother? His gun moll?

We quickly reached the right highway. I took over, thanked him profusely and offered to drive him back to his car and his mother.

Odd thing, he hurriedly declined and loped away rather quickly.

— Susan Keezer lives in Adrian. Send your good news to her at lenaweesmiles@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on The Holland Sentinel: Susan Keezer: Dublin