20
R. Linda:
Because I have worked last night, I got to go in late and come home early. And you know what that means? Blarney be about to hit the fan. So get out the waders and the rain gear, here it comes.
This weekend, I was working me fingers to the bone typing up copy for an article I did on a night club called The Rack. Linda, you have to see the place, it looks on the outside like a French outdoor cafe, but with the snow mounds it is empty space. There are white faery lights in the ornate trees in boxed planters, and the stretch limos are everywhere surrounding the place. Besides the limos the first thing that strikes one is the long line of people waiting to get in.
Saturday was Dance Party night with some radio DJ, so lend your imagination to what the waiting line was dressed in. I must have seen Brittany Spears blond wannabes mingling with Queen Latifah's bosomy black girls, eyelids glittered, and body piercings galore. The young men were all dressed in baggy pants that make them look like they couldn't find the men's room, with chains holding wallets in pockets and chinking against the knee whenever they took a step, and forget the tattoos! The micro mini lasses and the Eminem white lads mingling with the black Snoop Dogs and the suited P. Diddy's were a sight to behold. Such colours in the clothing was truly a rainbow of people, or "peeps" as I later found was the hip term.
There were caps like back in Ireland only these were made of leather, and came in neon colours, some with studs or sparkly stone designs. I was told they didn't allow baseball caps, so I guess these were the next best thing. I was also told no jeans or t-shirts, but I did see those too. To be honest with you, I felt out of place. Now, me editors told me to dress "hip" and try to give the impression I was an MTV VJ type. I was not knowing what they meant, so hip to me was black leather pants, an Aran sweater from home, and me own Irish cap with black leather jacket. I was dressed more for an Irish poetry read than a hip hop experience.
I get me there and I look around noting the 'atmosphere' of the place, then I takes meself along the line (with many startled eyes watching me, like I should be at the back of the line), all the way to the head of it, I go. As I get there, the five people at the front elbow each other and point. One says to me, "Yo dawg, back of the line is thata way!" and they all point to the end of the line.
I also got, "Who does he think he is?" from a pretty black girl, with one hand on her hip and the other hand used to emphasise her words. I got "Yo" with finger pointing to the end of the line. I smiled at all of them, gave them a big Irish grin and held up me press credentials saying, "Sorry, press."
I thought that would end it right there but it didn't. The black girl looked me up and down and said, "Um, um um, what we got here, yo!" and the rapper lad next to her is sizing me up and he says, "Yo homey, ya gonna stick out like white boy meat dressed like that." Then they proceeded to laughingly ask the bouncer if it be white boy day. Talk about uncomfortable. All this because I had gone to the head of the line, otherwise, none would have cared.
I already knew I wasn't dressed for the experience, but I didn't have time to go home and change, and besides, I didn't own clothes like they had on, and lastly, I wouldn't be caught dead dressed like them. I be in me thirties, how stupid would I look trying to dress like a young lad?
I ignored them and showed me card to the bouncer at the door. He said, "Go on in, but stay to the right, dawg." Dawg? I have been called a lot of things, but never a dog.
There was a line inside as well waiting to get onto the dance floor. I went to the right of it and once again, I got, "Yo dawg back there!" and such like that. I just held up me card and kept walking to which I came up to this tall, overly built woman with bleached hair that was tipped in green and pink. She wore a black leather halter top, and just below the belly piercing with a big target tattoo over her belly button, she had on this raggedly goth lace skirt that looked like she picked it off a corpse who'd been buried a long time.
I held up me press card and grinned at her. She said, "Gotta frisk ya." And I was thinking, HELLO! FRISK ME! I said, "Go on darlin' I ain't packin'," hoping to sound as with it as I could be. She grinned at me and said, "You sure don't look like Robert Blake." Did I feel stupid or what? She had me raise me arms up then she did her frisking which was enjoyable because she lingered over me privates, but well, a public frisking was a first for me.
She looked at me grinning. "Would ya like me to frisk ya again?"
I grinned back, "As long as I can frisk you in return for the favour."
"Go on in before I sling you over my shoulder and make you regret you said that," says she and off I went.
Once in, the crowd was shoulder to shoulder and the music was blaring. The drinks were flowing and I am sure the rich and famous were somewhere in the midst of the frivolity, but I couldn't move. I was stuck between people as I tried to find anyone who worked there that could point me in the direction of someone in charge.
As I stumbled around being shouldered to death, I finally made me way to the edge of the crowd. Hark, there was a bar in front of me! I wasted no time getting there and found meself being eyed by two dark haired beauties wearing practically nothing!
I dared order a Guinness and the barkeep asked me if I wanted two because he was busy and wouldn't get back to me by the time I drank the first. I was stunned, and answered him, "Two jars be better than one empty."
I guess me Irish accent was showing because one lass slithered off her barstool and plunked it down next to me. "Have a seat Irish," she smiled. I told her I was fine standing and she should keep her seat, it was all good. That started a conversation between the three of us about where I was from in Ireland, and all that foolishness Americans ask people like me, who were born over there. You know, like these stupid questions:
Have you ever seen a leprechaun?
Do you really believe there is a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?
Is it true all Irishmen are alcoholics?
Why don't the Irish like the British, aren't you all the same thing?
Is it true the Irish eat mostly potatoes?
How come you don't have red hair?
Is it true that Irishmen are brutal wife beaters?
Why do poor Irish people have big families they can't feed?
Have you seen any snakes since St. Patrick chased them away?
And lastly -- How come you moved here?
The answer to all THAT is quite simple. The leprechauns keep me up all night, I broke me shovel digging for that pot of gold and me hands are calloused from the digging, and there are too many pubs that tempt me alcoholic ways, and for some sad reason me British brethren like to threaten me with their guns as a big joke, and I be so busy eating potatoes that I hadn't realised me hair wasn't red, and I can't beat a wife because I don't have one, and the reason for that, is the women are all taken and busy with the hundreds of babies they spew annually, and begorrah me, the snakes that live in Irish trousers! That's why I moved HERE.
So once that was out of the way, we got down to business. I got enough from the two lovelies to write a half way decent article on The Rack. Of course, flirting is more me style in a soft voice, not shouting over the music. Only when I got home, did I notice I had a hearing defect. I was bordering on total deafness, and the way I found out was the ringing in me ears. Only it wasn't me ears, and it took me several minutes of standing still to ascertain if the ringing was IN me ears or OUTSIDE of them.
It was the phone! I grabbed it shouting, "Hello? Hello?" Nothing but someone whispering on the other end. I thought, this be me first obscene phone call! Until I realised they were saying, "Gabriel? Gabriel can you hear me?"
It was Julie from the club, one of the two lovelies. She called to make sure I got home without being mugged because I had stood out like the foreigner I was, and once outside the club, I was walking through "the hood" and Jesus, Mary and Joseph, white boys dressed funny did not go there after 2 a.m.
I didn't know that. But I survived! I think because I looked the total geek, the boyz in the hood couldn't be bothered with Irish punts and the exchange rate wouldn't tally them any gain. It was an auspicious night, even if I did lose me hearing. That be slowly coming back and me luck of being an 'in' nationality got me a date with Julie on Friday. I hope to find out she isn't seventeen and of British heritage. Me sainted Mam would never forgive me the last, and well, the first would scare even me.
Gabe
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Because I have worked last night, I got to go in late and come home early. And you know what that means? Blarney be about to hit the fan. So get out the waders and the rain gear, here it comes.
This weekend, I was working me fingers to the bone typing up copy for an article I did on a night club called The Rack. Linda, you have to see the place, it looks on the outside like a French outdoor cafe, but with the snow mounds it is empty space. There are white faery lights in the ornate trees in boxed planters, and the stretch limos are everywhere surrounding the place. Besides the limos the first thing that strikes one is the long line of people waiting to get in.
Saturday was Dance Party night with some radio DJ, so lend your imagination to what the waiting line was dressed in. I must have seen Brittany Spears blond wannabes mingling with Queen Latifah's bosomy black girls, eyelids glittered, and body piercings galore. The young men were all dressed in baggy pants that make them look like they couldn't find the men's room, with chains holding wallets in pockets and chinking against the knee whenever they took a step, and forget the tattoos! The micro mini lasses and the Eminem white lads mingling with the black Snoop Dogs and the suited P. Diddy's were a sight to behold. Such colours in the clothing was truly a rainbow of people, or "peeps" as I later found was the hip term.
There were caps like back in Ireland only these were made of leather, and came in neon colours, some with studs or sparkly stone designs. I was told they didn't allow baseball caps, so I guess these were the next best thing. I was also told no jeans or t-shirts, but I did see those too. To be honest with you, I felt out of place. Now, me editors told me to dress "hip" and try to give the impression I was an MTV VJ type. I was not knowing what they meant, so hip to me was black leather pants, an Aran sweater from home, and me own Irish cap with black leather jacket. I was dressed more for an Irish poetry read than a hip hop experience.
I get me there and I look around noting the 'atmosphere' of the place, then I takes meself along the line (with many startled eyes watching me, like I should be at the back of the line), all the way to the head of it, I go. As I get there, the five people at the front elbow each other and point. One says to me, "Yo dawg, back of the line is thata way!" and they all point to the end of the line.
I also got, "Who does he think he is?" from a pretty black girl, with one hand on her hip and the other hand used to emphasise her words. I got "Yo" with finger pointing to the end of the line. I smiled at all of them, gave them a big Irish grin and held up me press credentials saying, "Sorry, press."
I thought that would end it right there but it didn't. The black girl looked me up and down and said, "Um, um um, what we got here, yo!" and the rapper lad next to her is sizing me up and he says, "Yo homey, ya gonna stick out like white boy meat dressed like that." Then they proceeded to laughingly ask the bouncer if it be white boy day. Talk about uncomfortable. All this because I had gone to the head of the line, otherwise, none would have cared.
I already knew I wasn't dressed for the experience, but I didn't have time to go home and change, and besides, I didn't own clothes like they had on, and lastly, I wouldn't be caught dead dressed like them. I be in me thirties, how stupid would I look trying to dress like a young lad?
I ignored them and showed me card to the bouncer at the door. He said, "Go on in, but stay to the right, dawg." Dawg? I have been called a lot of things, but never a dog.
There was a line inside as well waiting to get onto the dance floor. I went to the right of it and once again, I got, "Yo dawg back there!" and such like that. I just held up me card and kept walking to which I came up to this tall, overly built woman with bleached hair that was tipped in green and pink. She wore a black leather halter top, and just below the belly piercing with a big target tattoo over her belly button, she had on this raggedly goth lace skirt that looked like she picked it off a corpse who'd been buried a long time.
I held up me press card and grinned at her. She said, "Gotta frisk ya." And I was thinking, HELLO! FRISK ME! I said, "Go on darlin' I ain't packin'," hoping to sound as with it as I could be. She grinned at me and said, "You sure don't look like Robert Blake." Did I feel stupid or what? She had me raise me arms up then she did her frisking which was enjoyable because she lingered over me privates, but well, a public frisking was a first for me.
She looked at me grinning. "Would ya like me to frisk ya again?"
I grinned back, "As long as I can frisk you in return for the favour."
"Go on in before I sling you over my shoulder and make you regret you said that," says she and off I went.
Once in, the crowd was shoulder to shoulder and the music was blaring. The drinks were flowing and I am sure the rich and famous were somewhere in the midst of the frivolity, but I couldn't move. I was stuck between people as I tried to find anyone who worked there that could point me in the direction of someone in charge.
As I stumbled around being shouldered to death, I finally made me way to the edge of the crowd. Hark, there was a bar in front of me! I wasted no time getting there and found meself being eyed by two dark haired beauties wearing practically nothing!
I dared order a Guinness and the barkeep asked me if I wanted two because he was busy and wouldn't get back to me by the time I drank the first. I was stunned, and answered him, "Two jars be better than one empty."
I guess me Irish accent was showing because one lass slithered off her barstool and plunked it down next to me. "Have a seat Irish," she smiled. I told her I was fine standing and she should keep her seat, it was all good. That started a conversation between the three of us about where I was from in Ireland, and all that foolishness Americans ask people like me, who were born over there. You know, like these stupid questions:
Have you ever seen a leprechaun?
Do you really believe there is a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?
Is it true all Irishmen are alcoholics?
Why don't the Irish like the British, aren't you all the same thing?
Is it true the Irish eat mostly potatoes?
How come you don't have red hair?
Is it true that Irishmen are brutal wife beaters?
Why do poor Irish people have big families they can't feed?
Have you seen any snakes since St. Patrick chased them away?
And lastly -- How come you moved here?
The answer to all THAT is quite simple. The leprechauns keep me up all night, I broke me shovel digging for that pot of gold and me hands are calloused from the digging, and there are too many pubs that tempt me alcoholic ways, and for some sad reason me British brethren like to threaten me with their guns as a big joke, and I be so busy eating potatoes that I hadn't realised me hair wasn't red, and I can't beat a wife because I don't have one, and the reason for that, is the women are all taken and busy with the hundreds of babies they spew annually, and begorrah me, the snakes that live in Irish trousers! That's why I moved HERE.
So once that was out of the way, we got down to business. I got enough from the two lovelies to write a half way decent article on The Rack. Of course, flirting is more me style in a soft voice, not shouting over the music. Only when I got home, did I notice I had a hearing defect. I was bordering on total deafness, and the way I found out was the ringing in me ears. Only it wasn't me ears, and it took me several minutes of standing still to ascertain if the ringing was IN me ears or OUTSIDE of them.
It was the phone! I grabbed it shouting, "Hello? Hello?" Nothing but someone whispering on the other end. I thought, this be me first obscene phone call! Until I realised they were saying, "Gabriel? Gabriel can you hear me?"
It was Julie from the club, one of the two lovelies. She called to make sure I got home without being mugged because I had stood out like the foreigner I was, and once outside the club, I was walking through "the hood" and Jesus, Mary and Joseph, white boys dressed funny did not go there after 2 a.m.
I didn't know that. But I survived! I think because I looked the total geek, the boyz in the hood couldn't be bothered with Irish punts and the exchange rate wouldn't tally them any gain. It was an auspicious night, even if I did lose me hearing. That be slowly coming back and me luck of being an 'in' nationality got me a date with Julie on Friday. I hope to find out she isn't seventeen and of British heritage. Me sainted Mam would never forgive me the last, and well, the first would scare even me.
Gabe
Copyright © 2003 All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment