I met Richie about half way through my Americano at O'Briens.
My table was next to the window looking out on to the busy street. I saw his reflection in the glass as he approached the door. I couldn't believe my eyes.
He was balancing a square board on his head with eight loaves of bread on top. This is how Richie transported his merchandise from the truck. As soon as he crossed the threshold of O'Briens, he popped the board off his head and set it on a table.
"That's amazing," I said to him. The girl behind the counter smiled and said, "That's Richie."
"Can I take your photo?" I asked.
He popped the board back atop his head and asked, "Ready?"
I grabbed my compact Canon and quickly fired off one shot. I knew that's all I'd get. He set the bread back on the table.
The girl counted the loaves and signed Richie's pad.
He turned back to me. "Where you from?"
"I met another American who liked to take pictures," Richie said as he walked over to my table. "We were talking and he told me he was looking for information about his father who lived here in Dublin."
I shifted my weight to get comfortable while maintaining eye contact.
"As it turned out, I had been given a picture of his father. I had never known who the gent was, but I liked the photo. But when his son told me his name, I knew I had heard it somewhere. I took the picture over to his hotel and gave it to him. He was so happy."
"What are the odds?" I asked.
"Yes, imagine that," Richie said.
He then turned on his heels and headed back to his truck.
"Thanks for the picture," I called out.
I paid for the coffee and left O'Briens. It was 10am.
And Richie had already made my day.