30 August 2013
703
R. Linda:
When I was in Ireland recently, I had cause to be home by myself; everyone else had gone out to shop. It was around 5 in the afternoon, and I had taken meself to the couch for a few z's when an awful pounding on the door had me jump up to find me parent's neighbour Jimmy McGooley at the door, drunk as a skunk. He slurred his speech, welcoming me home even if the circumstances weren't ideal, and he had come for a "cold one" to drink to me departed Grandda's health.
I ignored that, as the man was deep in his cups, and because he had lurched on passed me, there was not much I could do about his presence. I followed him as he lurched/swayed into the kitchen, opened our fridge, took out a cold Murphy and asked if I wanted one.
"Shirley, you'll be wantin' one, eh, Gabe? Yer Ma be chillin' da beer caus dots da way dey doo it in Americka an' she has taken ta offerin' oop cold ones . . . " and his voice trailed off as he flipped the tab and took a huge gulp of the beer, all the while handing me one (which I did not want and put back).
He then sat at the table and gave me bits and pieces of incoherent gossip. Told me how he had a fever of 103 for three days and didn't do anything about it until his wife came back from a trip to see her mother and carted his arse off to hospital. There, they found he had diverticulitis, and one of the things they told him was to cut the heavy drinking out. I see he listened, not.
What I neglected to tell you is he had his three small dogs with him. He goes nowhere without them. They are Pomeranians, I think, maybe not, but they are terribly small and furry. When me Grandda had first seen them, he thought Jimmy was walking three grey squirrels on a leash. That's how small these things are. Teacup dogs, I think they are referred to. Anyway, after gulping down his first Murphys (yes, it was the first of a six), he got up, got a cereal bowl and then another beer. He poured it into the bowl and gave it to his three alcoholic dogs. They lapped it up, and he helped himself to another. When I protested this, he told me to "relax yer Ma lets me have as many as I want."
Well, me "Ma" wasn't there, I was, so no, no, we weren't going to have a beer-fest. I about said as much and sent him and the "squirrels" on their way, he with one more for the road in hand. I watched him weave down the road in the middle of it, dogs bopping along in front. I shook me head in wonder. He had told me about elevated liver and gall bladder counts, and there I was, thinking he was suicidal, but what could I do?
After that, I couldn't sleep. I watched the telly until the family returned. The women were too knackered to fix dinner, so I offered to go to Noel's Chippy and bring back a feast of fish and chips. Everyone was good with that, so off I set. By this time, it was 7:00 p.m., and as I passed Jimmy's house, he was sitting in his garage in a lawn chair (his usual habit) with the three squirrels laid out in drunken stupor under his chair, all three belly up. He gave a drunken salute as I passed by, and again, I just had to wonder.
His wife supports him; she has a very good job, and he lives the life he does. Not a lick of work does he do, but if a neighbour needs assistance, he's right there and is a hard worker when sober. The key words are "when sober." I wondered how she could stand it, and to look at him he be this short, rather swarthy ugly man. So what she sees in him I can only think. My wife said he must be good in bed, which just the thought gave me the dry heaves.
We did drive past him when we arrived; he was out on the road doing God knows what in khaki shorts, black socks pulled up to his knees and black dress shoes, topping the "look" off with no shirt. I remember Tonya covering her eyes and telling me to speed it up; the sight of Jimmy made her want to gouge her eyes out.
"Why is he dressed like an American?" I questioned as a joke.
"You mean the traditional wearing of dark socks with dress shoes and shorts? Because he wants people to think he's been to New Jersey?" She answered, laughing.
And I realised that was so true. How many men did I see at those Parkway rest stops dressed like that, but they were all in those wife-beater shirts, so at least they were somewhat covered, more than I could say of nature boy Jimmy sans shirt.
Anyway, I thought of that on me way to the fish and chip shop. I got the food and started back. As I approached Jimmy's house, I saw he was fully asleep, and the lights were out. Just his silhouette nearly visible in the door light over the garage, head thrown back, probably snoring. I wondered if his wife had turned the lights off and was leaving him in the garage for the night. I found out the next morning (when walking me Mam's dog down the road -- and not in the middle either) that as I got to Jimmy's driveway, he was head thrown back, snoring away in the open garage. I could hear him from the road, he was that outrageously loud. The squirrels were nowhere to be seen, probably looking for beer nuts in the backyard.
I was stunned his wife didn't wake him and force him inside. But no, there he had been quite obviously all night long. He had smelled like a brewery when I saw him, and the snoring would wake the dead I was sure. No wonder she opted to leave him where he was.
On me return up the street, he had roused himself, and as I came up past his driveway, he waved and wished me a good morning as if he had not spent the night in his garage. I dunno.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
When I was in Ireland recently, I had cause to be home by myself; everyone else had gone out to shop. It was around 5 in the afternoon, and I had taken meself to the couch for a few z's when an awful pounding on the door had me jump up to find me parent's neighbour Jimmy McGooley at the door, drunk as a skunk. He slurred his speech, welcoming me home even if the circumstances weren't ideal, and he had come for a "cold one" to drink to me departed Grandda's health.
I ignored that, as the man was deep in his cups, and because he had lurched on passed me, there was not much I could do about his presence. I followed him as he lurched/swayed into the kitchen, opened our fridge, took out a cold Murphy and asked if I wanted one.
"Shirley, you'll be wantin' one, eh, Gabe? Yer Ma be chillin' da beer caus dots da way dey doo it in Americka an' she has taken ta offerin' oop cold ones . . . " and his voice trailed off as he flipped the tab and took a huge gulp of the beer, all the while handing me one (which I did not want and put back).
He then sat at the table and gave me bits and pieces of incoherent gossip. Told me how he had a fever of 103 for three days and didn't do anything about it until his wife came back from a trip to see her mother and carted his arse off to hospital. There, they found he had diverticulitis, and one of the things they told him was to cut the heavy drinking out. I see he listened, not.
What I neglected to tell you is he had his three small dogs with him. He goes nowhere without them. They are Pomeranians, I think, maybe not, but they are terribly small and furry. When me Grandda had first seen them, he thought Jimmy was walking three grey squirrels on a leash. That's how small these things are. Teacup dogs, I think they are referred to. Anyway, after gulping down his first Murphys (yes, it was the first of a six), he got up, got a cereal bowl and then another beer. He poured it into the bowl and gave it to his three alcoholic dogs. They lapped it up, and he helped himself to another. When I protested this, he told me to "relax yer Ma lets me have as many as I want."
Well, me "Ma" wasn't there, I was, so no, no, we weren't going to have a beer-fest. I about said as much and sent him and the "squirrels" on their way, he with one more for the road in hand. I watched him weave down the road in the middle of it, dogs bopping along in front. I shook me head in wonder. He had told me about elevated liver and gall bladder counts, and there I was, thinking he was suicidal, but what could I do?
After that, I couldn't sleep. I watched the telly until the family returned. The women were too knackered to fix dinner, so I offered to go to Noel's Chippy and bring back a feast of fish and chips. Everyone was good with that, so off I set. By this time, it was 7:00 p.m., and as I passed Jimmy's house, he was sitting in his garage in a lawn chair (his usual habit) with the three squirrels laid out in drunken stupor under his chair, all three belly up. He gave a drunken salute as I passed by, and again, I just had to wonder.
His wife supports him; she has a very good job, and he lives the life he does. Not a lick of work does he do, but if a neighbour needs assistance, he's right there and is a hard worker when sober. The key words are "when sober." I wondered how she could stand it, and to look at him he be this short, rather swarthy ugly man. So what she sees in him I can only think. My wife said he must be good in bed, which just the thought gave me the dry heaves.
We did drive past him when we arrived; he was out on the road doing God knows what in khaki shorts, black socks pulled up to his knees and black dress shoes, topping the "look" off with no shirt. I remember Tonya covering her eyes and telling me to speed it up; the sight of Jimmy made her want to gouge her eyes out.
"Why is he dressed like an American?" I questioned as a joke.
"You mean the traditional wearing of dark socks with dress shoes and shorts? Because he wants people to think he's been to New Jersey?" She answered, laughing.
And I realised that was so true. How many men did I see at those Parkway rest stops dressed like that, but they were all in those wife-beater shirts, so at least they were somewhat covered, more than I could say of nature boy Jimmy sans shirt.
Anyway, I thought of that on me way to the fish and chip shop. I got the food and started back. As I approached Jimmy's house, I saw he was fully asleep, and the lights were out. Just his silhouette nearly visible in the door light over the garage, head thrown back, probably snoring. I wondered if his wife had turned the lights off and was leaving him in the garage for the night. I found out the next morning (when walking me Mam's dog down the road -- and not in the middle either) that as I got to Jimmy's driveway, he was head thrown back, snoring away in the open garage. I could hear him from the road, he was that outrageously loud. The squirrels were nowhere to be seen, probably looking for beer nuts in the backyard.
I was stunned his wife didn't wake him and force him inside. But no, there he had been quite obviously all night long. He had smelled like a brewery when I saw him, and the snoring would wake the dead I was sure. No wonder she opted to leave him where he was.
On me return up the street, he had roused himself, and as I came up past his driveway, he waved and wished me a good morning as if he had not spent the night in his garage. I dunno.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
