After leaving your favorite pub in Ireland and stumbling into another, you’ll come across a private party of some sort. You know you don’t belong–but then you spot several large platters of fried chicken, pizza baguettes and tiny sausages. After one month in Galway and no jobs to speak of, your daily diet has consisted almost entirely of St. Bernard deli ham. The tiny sausages alone are enough to make you weep.
As such, you decide to play it cool, throwing on some party hats and scooting into a booth to make yourselves at home. But 40 wieners, 35 drumsticks, 10 pizza baguettes and two stolen pints of cider later, your roommate commits the ultimate party-crasher faux pas–asking a question to which she doesn’t already know the answer.
“So how do you know the birthday…person?” Bridget inquires, as you nervously wipe chicken grease off your face.
“This is a wrap party for an animated TV show,” the man responds. “We all work together.”
Should there be any doubt: Now is the time to remove your party hats, lift a bottle of Havana rum and see yourselves out.