21 March 2011
Story #378
R. Linda:
Well, I'm not alone in the post-hangover department from St. Paddy's Day. Such good news to know that everyone who was late getting back from the annual St. P's lunch at the pub had a hell of a weekend. There was speculation that the corned beef was of poor quality. Uh-huh, there may be some truth in that. I was feeling much better meself, and it was quite the thing watching me old lunch-mates stagger in as if they had just come from the pub, not had a weekend and a day to recover their wits.
It did indeed remind me of another such time years ago in Ireland. I was in Dublin working. St. Pats came, and I will say they do it proudly. But nothing like the crazy lunch that was had last Thursday. Anyway, I was thinking back to that day in Dublin, when I was in the office and a few of the people I'd lunched with came staggering in, which made me think they'd been drinking all weekend and the day after. And if truth be known, some had taken on (as I did) the hair of the old dog. Yup.
Evan McGuire sat at his desk, staring at the phone that wouldn't stop ringing because he wasn't picking it up. "Da las ting I want roight now be to talk to someone." But the ringing wasn't what he wanted either; you could tell his noggin was pounding, but he refused to pick it up. When it stopped, I asked him if he was still feeling the effects of our lunch the week before, because we had two drinks with our food, not enough to make one feel it. He turned to me and said, "No. Whiskey when ye're under da weather makes ye well, as me ol'won would say. But whiskey when you're well kin make ya sicker'n'a dog. I have found dat oout the hard way."
Shortly after, Kevin Connolly waltzed in. Well, hardly waltzed, lurched would be more the description. He sat heavily in his chair, and Kev was not a thin man, but a heavy, beefy type with a naturally red face that offset his red hair, making him look as though he was on fire from the shoulders up. Yes, it did. He looked at the two of us and, with watery faded blue eyes and a sniff, said, "Drink be a curse it be! I took a shot at me landlord. I did an' missed! Wanker had the garda on me, an' I spent a forbidding two days in the goal!"
Oh my. And, it looked to Evan and me that old Kev drowned his sorrows once he got out. We had no time to ask more about it when little Erin O'Shea came tripping in. Yes, she did, literally. Not exactly light on her feet, she nearly fell into her chair before catching it and went careening into a file cabinet. Which would have been laughable if the noise she made when she hit didn't set both Evan and Kev's throbbing heads off to near alcoholic explosion.
"Erin ye ok?" I asked, a wee bit concerned and amused at such a little thing, still feeling the effects.
"Ay. Know dis you tree, before ye call fur one fur da road, be sure ye know da road. I stopped at O'Hanlan's on me way home Tursday an' had a few more beers wit some acquaintances. It bein' St. Pats Day an' all. By the time I got oudda dere, I couldn't remember which direction I lived in. I got in me motor and headed oout, an' found meself in Shannon. I don't know how I got dere, but it wuz a long drive back, I kin tell ya dat! All I had wit me wuz a bottle of Jameson, an' bein' I hadda dry mouth, I sipped on it all da way back. I be feelin' it NOW."
OH MY GOD. Little Erin O'Shea, tiny thing, drinking and driving? She knew better, but in her inebriated state, apparently, that went out the window. We told her how lucky she was that she didn't kill someone or herself.
Well, that wasn't the end of it. Corin O'Reilly, our office clown, came bounding in, a smile on his face, looking all fresh and ready to work. We were stunned, but Corin has a hollow leg; he does, and can drink a donkey under the table. He stood at his desk looking at us with a grin on his leprechaun-ish face and pointed at himself, "I be ready to werk. A man needing a drink tinks of great schemes to get it, an' dat be me!"
Oh, happy, happy man. The other three wanted to kick him, I be sure. They all grumbled something unintelligible, and it struck me that we were all making points about the drink, maybe to convince ourselves the national pastime was perfectly fine to flaunt. So I piped up, I did, and said, "You've never seen a collection for a needy publican have ye?"
They thought about that, and a round of no's was uttered under their breaths.
"Well," O'Reilly smiled, "If Holy Water wuz beer, I'd be at mass every merning!" He and I laughed. The rest held their heads.
"Wine drowns more men than water," I high-fived O'Reilly. The hungover three looked up with evil eyes at us, and the looks meant, shut yer gob. Well, after a few more of these wonderful old Irish sayings, Kevin rose out of his chair and shouted at us, "And the drunk will soon have daylight through the rafters!" And he held up a finger to emphasise the point. With that, he sat down, and I looked at O'Reilly, who snickered and shrugged. In a whisper, he said, "For shure dat be a new one on me." And he sat down as did I, our grins turned to pondering on our faces. I still haven't figured that one out to this day.
Updates:
I found that in Dublin, while imbibing was limited on St. Patrick's Day, it was a free-for-all over the weekend.
An update on Kevin, he be doing time for shooting his landlord in the leg a month later. He wasn't too drunk at the time. Thus, he sort of hit his mark.
Evan has sworn off the hard stuff and now only drinks Shirley Temples. Seems he has liver problems, poor man.
You'll be happy to know Erin be in an AA programme to this day and hasn't touched a drop, but my oh my, the one you'd least expect it from to take a terrible chance. Sigh.
And O'Reilly, what can I say about that one? He was the heaviest drinker of all of them; well, he was the senior editor for a prominent Dublin newspaper. Yup, I don't get it, but he did like his work, and drink never seemed to interfere; it only made him more apt to put his nose to the grindstone. Go figure.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Well, I'm not alone in the post-hangover department from St. Paddy's Day. Such good news to know that everyone who was late getting back from the annual St. P's lunch at the pub had a hell of a weekend. There was speculation that the corned beef was of poor quality. Uh-huh, there may be some truth in that. I was feeling much better meself, and it was quite the thing watching me old lunch-mates stagger in as if they had just come from the pub, not had a weekend and a day to recover their wits.
It did indeed remind me of another such time years ago in Ireland. I was in Dublin working. St. Pats came, and I will say they do it proudly. But nothing like the crazy lunch that was had last Thursday. Anyway, I was thinking back to that day in Dublin, when I was in the office and a few of the people I'd lunched with came staggering in, which made me think they'd been drinking all weekend and the day after. And if truth be known, some had taken on (as I did) the hair of the old dog. Yup.
Evan McGuire sat at his desk, staring at the phone that wouldn't stop ringing because he wasn't picking it up. "Da las ting I want roight now be to talk to someone." But the ringing wasn't what he wanted either; you could tell his noggin was pounding, but he refused to pick it up. When it stopped, I asked him if he was still feeling the effects of our lunch the week before, because we had two drinks with our food, not enough to make one feel it. He turned to me and said, "No. Whiskey when ye're under da weather makes ye well, as me ol'won would say. But whiskey when you're well kin make ya sicker'n'a dog. I have found dat oout the hard way."
Shortly after, Kevin Connolly waltzed in. Well, hardly waltzed, lurched would be more the description. He sat heavily in his chair, and Kev was not a thin man, but a heavy, beefy type with a naturally red face that offset his red hair, making him look as though he was on fire from the shoulders up. Yes, it did. He looked at the two of us and, with watery faded blue eyes and a sniff, said, "Drink be a curse it be! I took a shot at me landlord. I did an' missed! Wanker had the garda on me, an' I spent a forbidding two days in the goal!"
Oh my. And, it looked to Evan and me that old Kev drowned his sorrows once he got out. We had no time to ask more about it when little Erin O'Shea came tripping in. Yes, she did, literally. Not exactly light on her feet, she nearly fell into her chair before catching it and went careening into a file cabinet. Which would have been laughable if the noise she made when she hit didn't set both Evan and Kev's throbbing heads off to near alcoholic explosion.
"Erin ye ok?" I asked, a wee bit concerned and amused at such a little thing, still feeling the effects.
"Ay. Know dis you tree, before ye call fur one fur da road, be sure ye know da road. I stopped at O'Hanlan's on me way home Tursday an' had a few more beers wit some acquaintances. It bein' St. Pats Day an' all. By the time I got oudda dere, I couldn't remember which direction I lived in. I got in me motor and headed oout, an' found meself in Shannon. I don't know how I got dere, but it wuz a long drive back, I kin tell ya dat! All I had wit me wuz a bottle of Jameson, an' bein' I hadda dry mouth, I sipped on it all da way back. I be feelin' it NOW."
OH MY GOD. Little Erin O'Shea, tiny thing, drinking and driving? She knew better, but in her inebriated state, apparently, that went out the window. We told her how lucky she was that she didn't kill someone or herself.
Well, that wasn't the end of it. Corin O'Reilly, our office clown, came bounding in, a smile on his face, looking all fresh and ready to work. We were stunned, but Corin has a hollow leg; he does, and can drink a donkey under the table. He stood at his desk looking at us with a grin on his leprechaun-ish face and pointed at himself, "I be ready to werk. A man needing a drink tinks of great schemes to get it, an' dat be me!"
Oh, happy, happy man. The other three wanted to kick him, I be sure. They all grumbled something unintelligible, and it struck me that we were all making points about the drink, maybe to convince ourselves the national pastime was perfectly fine to flaunt. So I piped up, I did, and said, "You've never seen a collection for a needy publican have ye?"
They thought about that, and a round of no's was uttered under their breaths.
"Well," O'Reilly smiled, "If Holy Water wuz beer, I'd be at mass every merning!" He and I laughed. The rest held their heads.
"Wine drowns more men than water," I high-fived O'Reilly. The hungover three looked up with evil eyes at us, and the looks meant, shut yer gob. Well, after a few more of these wonderful old Irish sayings, Kevin rose out of his chair and shouted at us, "And the drunk will soon have daylight through the rafters!" And he held up a finger to emphasise the point. With that, he sat down, and I looked at O'Reilly, who snickered and shrugged. In a whisper, he said, "For shure dat be a new one on me." And he sat down as did I, our grins turned to pondering on our faces. I still haven't figured that one out to this day.
Updates:
I found that in Dublin, while imbibing was limited on St. Patrick's Day, it was a free-for-all over the weekend.
An update on Kevin, he be doing time for shooting his landlord in the leg a month later. He wasn't too drunk at the time. Thus, he sort of hit his mark.
Evan has sworn off the hard stuff and now only drinks Shirley Temples. Seems he has liver problems, poor man.
You'll be happy to know Erin be in an AA programme to this day and hasn't touched a drop, but my oh my, the one you'd least expect it from to take a terrible chance. Sigh.
And O'Reilly, what can I say about that one? He was the heaviest drinker of all of them; well, he was the senior editor for a prominent Dublin newspaper. Yup, I don't get it, but he did like his work, and drink never seemed to interfere; it only made him more apt to put his nose to the grindstone. Go figure.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
