Tuesday, March 03, 2009

Then it all went pear

So I'd no money to pay for my pint. I had my Atm card but no money in my account unless I transferred some.

And I'd me mobile with me but no credit.

And the goo on me for another beer so help me god.

And Loretta, the fat girl from the Luas, looking at her empty glass. Twirling the umbrella from it in her stubby little fingers.

And her nails.

You know them mad fake nails. Gel nails with little sparkles and patterns put on. Them little fake nails that makes posh people, with their heads up their arses - laugh, the nails that women who wear pyjamas to the shop have. The pyjama wearing women who struggle with alcoholic da's and junkie boyfriends but could look right through you as if you were made of glass.

She has them nails. Fair play to her. She doesn't realise that it's a sort of tribal marking. A sign that's she's prone to have a Britney Spears ring tone.

I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt though. I don't know why I didnt notice the nails on the Luas. But I like what they say about her. Like I like exotic birds that are bland apart from one extravagant feather.

One of the more attractive members of the pack of scangers has a phone to her ear. There's an empty buggy beside her.

I don't know what that means but it's there, main thing is she has a phone.

So I move over to sit beside them and they go all quite. I ask the girl who used the phone for a lend of it (she's got pinned eyes, and brown teeth on closer inspection), explaining that I'll give it straight back.

The group confer, and in the spirit of openess and generosity they hand me the phone.

People are nice.

So I ring me bank. And I get this bloke who can't hear me right. I have to speak up. I put me finger in me ear. The group are chattering away. I need to transfer money I'm saying and your man is taking ages to understand.

One of the women is getting agitated, her knacker earrings trembling, she thinks i'm taking liberties, she's grabbing the phone owners elbow, nudging her. A chant of here here! starts. I'm only on the phone a few fucking seconds, but they're on drunk time, and have switched from generous souls to seriously aggreived.

Her credit, her credit! they're saying. I'm trying to ignore them, hoping common sense prevails. Eventually I finish the call and hand the phone back. They're all staring at me.

I'm sorry I say.

They stare as if I'm a walking sack of mucus that's just slithered onto the stool.

I head out to the ATM to get some cash and come back. Loretta smiles when I return.

There's a new addition to the nearby group. A little oulone.

She has that diminshed dublin granny thing going that you only see in Moore street or Frawleys. Like the ones that buy fish from them smelly little stalls and give out about immigrants and the price of brocolli.

Her hair looks like it's made of precast lead and she's no legs, just a skirt and feet. She's giving me the evil eye bigtime, her mouth puckered to an asterisk from too many cigarettes.

The vibe is poxy. I go to the bar and buy a beer for me, a smirnoff ice for Loretta and a Bud for the girl with the phone.

One of the fellah's from the group is at the bar. He leans over, nods back towards the table and says I hope your not buying that for her.

I say I am.

I leave the bar but he puts his hand on the Bud and says that I'm making a mistake. That a man can get real pissed off if another man buys his woman a drink.

I'm not sure what he's at. He's looking away from me, and whispering as if he's doing me a favour. Which means i'm not sure he's talking about himself or one of the other men.

And besides, the girl is in bits.

Just then me phone goes with a text.

I put the beer down beside the girl and can feel the vibe changing. One of the women makes a shape with her mouth that I think is a smile.

I'm thinking happy days now. Feeling like a genius for fixing things.

I open the phone, it's my daughter's number. A text from the eight year old. She's supposed to be in school.

It's says - 'wre r u dad cn u get mi tennis ball its on da roof stuck in da gutter'

I picture her standing there in the grass looking up at the ball trapped, the wind blowing her hair in a chaos of strands, daffodils popping through the grass near her feet as she stands staring at the immovable flourescent ball.

And her ma in the house, probably in the bedroom with the curtains drawn and a knot of tissue in her hands wondering where I am.

I close the phone.

And your man gives me a dig in the mouth.

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5 comments:

kendy said...

The content you have provided is pretty interesting and useful and I will surely take note of the point you have made in the blog.

Uiscebot said...

Eh, you're welcome Kendy...

Niamh B said...

So I was on the Luas today, and met no fat girls, and had no amazing adventures - so can I sue you for false advertising?

Totalfeckineejit said...

Nice one Uiscebot, spot on and I tell ya wot that granny is right bout the price of fughin broccoli-scandalous.

Anonymous said...

that was a fun read :)