Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Fat girl on the Luas

So I didn't find my keys that day and I didn't go to work.

I didn't go to work because I bunked on the Luas and got a phone call from my boss and he was giving it his usual smarmy self with lashings of treacly contempt for my pathetic late ass and him asking me when I'll be in and at this stage it's after nine, one hour late.

And I say to meself fuck him. Fuck him and his money and fuck going to work and fuck doing what I'm told. Fuck everything.

So I say I wont be in, family emergency. Eat shit boss man and I close the phone and I'm all chuffed with meself.

But I'm in trouble cause I know the missus will slaughter me when she finds out.

So I decide she won't find out. I'll go to town. And come back at four o clock.

A day trip.

Me feeding my little ten year old inside and his puny need to see the world.

Like mitching, going on the hop, playing truant.

I used to love going on the hop as a kid. The first time I did was in Ballymun, I was only five and I was late and my Ma wouldn't walk me to school and I was freaked out and I had twopence and there was a caravan-shop at the exit to the flats and they sold flogs so I gorged meself on Twopence worth of flogs, which was about, ten million fucking flogs.

I was walking up the road not wanting to go to school and then I saw me ma at the bus stop gettting the bus into town, maybe to the labour or something and I just turned up behind her and she was put on the spot and just let me go with her.

And getting off bus the elastic in my cords snapped, just as the door flung open at our stop. My cords fell down and I thought the whiplash of the door had broken me trousers.

It was mad. Like the time my friend watched a video of himself and his alarm went off on his digital watch at the same time in real life and on the tele.

Anyway, that was the first time and since then I've been a fan of truancy, mitching all over the place in every year in school.

May all your children and your children's children mitch from school when school is shit.

For me, skipping off is like going to strip clubs or doing cocaine, you get a taste for it and the urge never leaves you.

So there I am, on the Luas, a mitching man in his thirties. Taking money from the mouths of his children, what a bastard.

And this fat girl gets on at Bluebell.

Fucking huge she was. With reddish blonde hair, in a pontyail. Tied back tight so her milky face looked even fatter. And she sits across from me. Her legs were like fucking massive and her feet were tiny.

If you pushed her she'd fall over and the oompa loompas would have to roll her away.

And little piggy eyes like raisins in a ball of dough.

But sparkly. Loads and loads of life in them. When she looked at me it was like zing! A connection.

Everytime I look at her she looks at me and there's this fucking chemistry. Mad.

So I ask her the time.

She say's a quarter past nine.

And I'm not messing, when she talks her voice is like music.

I'm like pepe le peux floating after the sound of it. Love at first listen. There's fireworks going off in the dark of my groggy morning brain.

This is fucking cosmic man.

Maybe we're two molecules destined to find each other in the Dublin goo.

Or maybe her size means she has her own gravitational field.

Whatever it is I'm drawn to her. Quarter past nine she says, and then she's sorta sitting there wating for me to say something else. And I realise it's not just her voice. It's her aura. She has integrity, a sort of poise. You can tell she's seen some shit and knows what's what. It was definetely there. Declared by the spark in her little eyes.

I was mesmerised and then I spoke. I asked her was she heading into work.

And she says kinda.

And I say wha?

Turns out shes going to Docter Quirkies, the poxiest and bestest Amusements and Casino in Dublin to meet her boyfriend. He works there she says.

When she asks me where I'm going I say, dunno really, O Connell Street anyway, and she says oh and I smile.

And I'm glad we're talking because you get to a stage in life where you realise you're dead for a lot of other people's lives and the more people you can talk to the better 'cause when you're gone all that's left is the stuff you plant in people's heads, and I'm thinking if I can make her day better by being a nice thing that happened to her even for only 30 minutes then I'll be happy.

Until I go home and face the music.

So we talk about loads of things, the weather, the traffic, the re-fucking-cession, but no point boring you or myself with that. Long story short we end up in Abbey street after gettting off the luas and the banter we traded was the surface of some deep shit getting communicated between us via body language, mirroring, smiles and stares.

And my phone rings. It's the missus and I dont answer, because there'll be city sounds and a shitload of grief for me if i do.

And when I hang up your woman is gone. I get to the corner of Abbey street and O Connell street and she's completely fucking dissapearred.

Fast, despite her size.

And I look up and down O Connell Street, at the GPO, the cinemas and the tacky attraction of Supermacs all stuck under a gloomy grey sky getting scraped by the Spire and I think sure fuck it I'll follow her to Dr Quirkies. Meet the BF.

And off I went.

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Domestic Oub said...

this has the taste o' hunter s thompson imo. hst always leaves my head feeling funny.

Totalfeckineejit said...

Lookin forwrd to da next installo,I'ts never too late to grow-up ,but yer thirties is way too early.Finally got da link to 'slaughterhouse Rat' ta werk.really enjoyed it, nice to have a bit o rust among all the shiny metal.Great left hook at the end too,I'd fergotten all bout da sunflower.

Uiscebot said...

DomOub, that's a compliment right? Never really read the Gonzo guy meself. Have his autobiography but it fell behind a headboard or something.

And cheers Total for the comment on the oul Rat. Like the blog post above the rat story actually happened - but to my Gran, and minus the special effects.

Domestic Oub said...

Definite comp.

Emerging Writer said...

I'm lovin' it. Much more interesting than my day. bring on the next installment (does the wife read the blog? does she know?)

Annillu said...

My GOD but your writing is brill!

Domestic Oub said...

Uiscebot you're sooooooo dreamy.

Anonymous said...

Nigerian men like their women to have a bit of substance to them.

beedlemama said...

Ok, so I cant stop laughing.... and you are out there hitting me in the ribs saying all the stuff we think but we don't say, gotta get into that. Love it. bm

Dr. O said...

I pray I somehow ever get a chance to listen to you tell these fantastic stories, rather than reading them. What magic you have.

Uiscebot said...

Thanks Dr O!