your typical thursday afternoon
One day as I was driving along listening to NewsTalk I learned of a competition they were running. The question was something like :
“Name five places in Dublin that end in the letter ‘o’ ”.
It wasn’t for a major prize or anything, in fact I seem to recall that it was for something I didn’t actually want. And so my instincts led me to look for a joke answer, and I texted in this contribution :
“The gaffs belonging to Anto, Micko, Philo, Eamo and Deco”
The presenters read it out, had a giggle, and I was suitably chuffed that my material had been aired. Go me.
Little did I know that I’d be witnessing real life versions of those five blokes in a post office in North Dublin some months later!
Like many post offices these days, it was part of a newsagents. I was queueing to pay my electricity bill and there were a good few people ahead of me, so I had time to look around and take in what was going on.
Not that there was much going on at first. The other people in the queue were staring blankly ahead, the cashier was quietly going about her business, and the girl behind the till at the newsagents section was restocking the sweet counter with Mars bars.
Then from outside you could hear the rising crescendo of a mixture of deep booming voices and clanking bottles. Before we knew what hit us, a lanky figure stormed into the shop...
Hang on a sec.
I just realised where you might think this story is headed.
Relax - the post office wasn’t robbed or anything, though we'd have been forgiven for thinking it was about to be.
Well, maybe a few things WERE taken, but let’s just say none of us were put in any danger. Sorry if that makes this story boring but I still thought it was interesting enough for a blog post!!! So allow me to continue…
Before we knew what hit us, a lanky figure stormed into the shop. It was only when a voice emerged from the raised hood of his Nike top that you could be totally sure it was a male.
“Do ya sell king size Rizlas?” he bellowed to the girl with the Mars bars.
I’m sure she replied somehow, but her softly spoken tones would have been drowned out by the noise of the other four lads who were at the door, with the discussion seeming to be about some horse or other.
“Well, Anto, do they have em or wha?” came a cry from the door.
“Yeah!”
“Hey Anto, get us a bottle of fuckin coke will ya?”
“Right”
“Give us two packs of the Rizlas and a bottle of coke.”
Please? I thought. Oh my God I'm finally starting to think like my granny.
Anto completed his transaction and went outside, after which the clanking of bottles resumed amid the booming voices. Then you could clearly make out…
“Ah Anto ya fuckin muppet! I meant a LARGE bottle of fuckin Coke!!!” and with that another lanky hooded figure appeared and said to the girl : “Do ya have large bottles of Coke?” in a voice ten times louder than necessary.
I noticed the other people in the queue, who like me were watching these lads with bemusement – even the busy post mistress was casting an odd glance over her spectacles at them.
With that came another loud series of clanks as obviously the bottles were put down and Anto left on sentry duty so the other three boyos could come in. They clearly realised it was important to buy some munchies to go with the beers and whatever was going to be rolled into the Rizlas. Not one of them appeared to have seen their twentieth year.
Well, how nothing got knocked over I’ll never know. In the space of five minutes the place went from steady calm to a Pamplona china shop over-run by stampeding bulls back to tranquility again once they left to continue their fun-filled Thursday afternoon.
The lady in front of me turned right around to see if I was as amazed by their antics as she was, so I felt compelled to say something.
“They’re obviously all going home to read Shakespeare to each other for the rest of the day!”
“Oh, most definitely! I can imagine what state they'll be in by dinnertime!” she replied after a short chuckle.
All I could think was please, PLEASE, if there IS a God, don’t let my daughter ever want to go out with a bloke like any of them!!! Is that too much to ask???
“Name five places in Dublin that end in the letter ‘o’ ”.
It wasn’t for a major prize or anything, in fact I seem to recall that it was for something I didn’t actually want. And so my instincts led me to look for a joke answer, and I texted in this contribution :
“The gaffs belonging to Anto, Micko, Philo, Eamo and Deco”
The presenters read it out, had a giggle, and I was suitably chuffed that my material had been aired. Go me.
Little did I know that I’d be witnessing real life versions of those five blokes in a post office in North Dublin some months later!
Like many post offices these days, it was part of a newsagents. I was queueing to pay my electricity bill and there were a good few people ahead of me, so I had time to look around and take in what was going on.
Not that there was much going on at first. The other people in the queue were staring blankly ahead, the cashier was quietly going about her business, and the girl behind the till at the newsagents section was restocking the sweet counter with Mars bars.
Then from outside you could hear the rising crescendo of a mixture of deep booming voices and clanking bottles. Before we knew what hit us, a lanky figure stormed into the shop...
Hang on a sec.
I just realised where you might think this story is headed.
Relax - the post office wasn’t robbed or anything, though we'd have been forgiven for thinking it was about to be.
Well, maybe a few things WERE taken, but let’s just say none of us were put in any danger. Sorry if that makes this story boring but I still thought it was interesting enough for a blog post!!! So allow me to continue…
Before we knew what hit us, a lanky figure stormed into the shop. It was only when a voice emerged from the raised hood of his Nike top that you could be totally sure it was a male.
“Do ya sell king size Rizlas?” he bellowed to the girl with the Mars bars.
I’m sure she replied somehow, but her softly spoken tones would have been drowned out by the noise of the other four lads who were at the door, with the discussion seeming to be about some horse or other.
“Well, Anto, do they have em or wha?” came a cry from the door.
“Yeah!”
“Hey Anto, get us a bottle of fuckin coke will ya?”
“Right”
“Give us two packs of the Rizlas and a bottle of coke.”
Please? I thought. Oh my God I'm finally starting to think like my granny.
Anto completed his transaction and went outside, after which the clanking of bottles resumed amid the booming voices. Then you could clearly make out…
“Ah Anto ya fuckin muppet! I meant a LARGE bottle of fuckin Coke!!!” and with that another lanky hooded figure appeared and said to the girl : “Do ya have large bottles of Coke?” in a voice ten times louder than necessary.
I noticed the other people in the queue, who like me were watching these lads with bemusement – even the busy post mistress was casting an odd glance over her spectacles at them.
With that came another loud series of clanks as obviously the bottles were put down and Anto left on sentry duty so the other three boyos could come in. They clearly realised it was important to buy some munchies to go with the beers and whatever was going to be rolled into the Rizlas. Not one of them appeared to have seen their twentieth year.
Well, how nothing got knocked over I’ll never know. In the space of five minutes the place went from steady calm to a Pamplona china shop over-run by stampeding bulls back to tranquility again once they left to continue their fun-filled Thursday afternoon.
The lady in front of me turned right around to see if I was as amazed by their antics as she was, so I felt compelled to say something.
“They’re obviously all going home to read Shakespeare to each other for the rest of the day!”
“Oh, most definitely! I can imagine what state they'll be in by dinnertime!” she replied after a short chuckle.
All I could think was please, PLEASE, if there IS a God, don’t let my daughter ever want to go out with a bloke like any of them!!! Is that too much to ask???
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1 comment/s so far:
Growing up and witnessing the failings of the next generation is a bitch, eh, Mr. P.?
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