It was a Wednesday night in Donleavy’s at the start of December. The pub was quiet. People were clearly hoarding their money for a pre-Christmas splurge. Pennies were being piled up to commit to excessive drinking, shouting, contrived good humor and general innocent misbehavior blamed on the speedy journey of ethanol to the brain. One could imagine the neurons in the prefrontal cortex putting up brave flood defenses in the forehead, keeping the eyes focused for as long as possible. But then ultimately, they would get swamped and drowned as wave after wave of alcohol took them out one by one. The last few neurons could probably be heard gagging on their final breath as they vainly tried to maintain the personality of their owner and warn of the consequences – only to be finally swept away with their cautions drowned out by the tsunami alcohol rush. Donleavy’s pub would be heaving with sweaty and noisy bodies then.
But this was only the beginning of December. It was quiet. That was the way JP, Mono and Rasher preferred it to be. They could relax and take life slowly. In truth – Donleavy preferred it this was as well. Although he would never object to the cash register filling up with those hoarded pennies. He’d also never object to the credit card machine nearly melting from the heat of excessive use and a symphony of ‘taps’. But it was nicer this way. Donleavy’s wasn’t Weatherspoon’s after all. Donleavy’s was Donleavy’s.
Our three heroes applied Physics and shifted buttocks on their respective bar stools to find that optimum arrangement where pressure was spread in as near perfect equal distribution as was humanly possible. Donleavy engaged Chemistry as he allowed the diffusion of layers in the three, pint glasses to reach a critical mixing before applying the remaining volume, resulting in an almost magical separation of black and cream liquid. He presented his work to JP, Rasher, and Mono onto strategically positioned beer mats.
“Pints, gentlemen”, he announced with the understatement of a confident master craftsman.
“Cheers, Donleavy.”
“Black magic.”
“The choice of champions.”
They each took a minute to enjoy the moment of their pints. To defer the satisfaction. Then with an almost invisible and imperceptible motion of the head from JP, the signal for synchronous pint drinking had been sent. Hands reached out. Highly trained reflexes each imbibed an exactly equal aliquot across the three glasses. Glasses were then returned to original starting places. Each allowed himself an elongated exhalation of breath. All was good with the world. The fact that it was midweek, before the Christmas rush, and the pub was sparsely populated made the world an even better place. Nothing was said for a while. That was normal. Each man was luxuriating in his own thoughts. His own view of the world. Sharing would happen in its own good time.
Finally, JP broke the reveries.
“I got annoyed today.”
The two lads were in with supersonic speed.
“Wha’?”
“Nah. Couldn’t happen.”
JP shot a withering look from left to right to each of them in turn.
“I got pissed off with a J-walker.”
The two lads chimed in behind him.
“Feckin’ only right.”
“Pure gobshites – some of ‘em.”
JP gave an uncharacteristic sigh.
“I gave him everythin’. All I had. I stood on the horn. Opened the window and gave him the finger….and questioned his parentage.”
With lips forming an ‘O’, the two boys blew out long and hard.
“He pissed me off. I hate feckin’ J-walkers. Particularly the ones who don’t look left nor right. Just walk out starin’ straight ahead.”
“Yer dead right. They’re bastards.”
“And the ones who do that – and put their hand in the air as if you’ve given them permission. Not only are they bastards. Their bleedin’ adoptive parents gave them back.”
They mused on this violent agreement for at least another synchronous mouthful. JP intoned again.
“Then I felt sorry.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono.
“For wha’?”
“You weren’t the one who bleedin’ stepped out in front of a killin’ machine.”
It seemed like an eternity before JP framed his next set of words. A couple of aborted attempts were initiated but amounted to very little. This was totally unlike a usually direct and concise JP. He pursed his lips and went for it again.
“Why did I feel sorry?”
The question didn’t need a verbal response, just some encouraging body language from the other two amigos.
“Well, it’s because we haven’t a bleedin’ breeze wha’s goin’ on in other lad’s lives. He could be hurryin’ home to a sick child. He could ‘ave been late for a funeral. He might ‘ave been rushin’ for cancer treatment.”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher.
“Jayzus, JP. Roll on shaggin’ Christmas. You’re some man to put a big, black, soggy blanket over a sunny day.”
“Yeah. More likely the fecker parked in a handicapped space and was rushin’ back before he got clamped.”
“….Or he was on his way to the court house – facing charges of cheating old people out of their life savings.”
“….or he was ridin’ some other fellas moth and just saw him down the street.”
“….or he’d just pick pocketed a teenager’s mobile phone.”
JP considered it all. He even rubbed his chin which was a sure sign he was taking everything seriously.
“Jayzus, lads. I don’t know.”
“You’re too bleedin’ sensitive today, JP. It must be Christmas comin’ up. I’d say the fecker was pure evil, myself.”
“Yeah, JP. Probably a paedo.”
“Jayzus, lads. I don’t know.”
Rasher and Mono exchanged glances. There were unwritten rules in the accepted behaviour of drinking at Donleavy’s and becoming over-personal was right at the top. Sex, politics, sports, religion, slagging – all fair game – but personal stuff – verboten. Sometimes it was difficult to stay on the right side of the line. But you had to be very sure it was worth straying even near to the line. Rasher agonised. Mono could even see the anguish in the lines on Rasher’s face. He knew something ground-breaking in the context of their conversations was about to happen.
“JP. Are you sure yer OK?”
Mono felt the need to pitch in with Rasher. A line had definitely been crossed. One of those occasions where you may as well both go down together.
“Yeah. JP. Definitely not like you. Normally you’d be all for pikin’ it in to the fecker. Are you feelin’ yerself today”
JP looked at them for a prolonged moment and then smiled.
“Nah. Dirty rotten habit. Had to give it up. Makin’ me blind.”
They all guffawed. They atmosphere was broken and back to normal. Phew. That was a close one. Closest one in a long time. Who knew where you’d end up if you started getting into personal stuff. Could be Friendship Armageddon. Could be Donleavy’s Apocalypse. Could be the Three Amigo Day of Reckoning. Far too much risk involved there. Way too dicey. Lucky – they had been saved and pulled back from the brink of the abyss. When you look down into the abyss there is no knowing what demons could be released. ‘Stranger Things’ meets ‘Donleavy’s Pub’. The Demogorgon on a route march. Doesn’t bear thinking about. A cold breeze and collective shudder ran through the bar. The three lads went for the comfort of the known. They took another synchronous gulp from their pints. The waves in the air around them settled down again. Nothing was further said. A peacefulness descended again.
After returning his pint glass to the beer mat, JP looked deeply down into the glass. The volume was reaching a critical point. Action was required.
“Rasher. Give Donleavy the nod there. Yer round.”
Rasher prodded a finger into the air. The unspoken message was received loud and clear by Donleavy.
“Jayzus. Thanks JP”, Rasher replied once the order had been received. “Too much going on. We could have ended up with empty glasses there.”
They each looked at the other with earnestness. Another potential crisis had been narrowly avoided. What if their glasses had run to empty? And what if there had been a power cut and Donleavy had not been able to pull further pints. Or what if there had been a crowd of punters all entering the bar together? And Donleavy couldn’t get to them. The only point at which a glass should be allowed to run empty was at the end of the evening and even then, only just before departing the bar. Any other scenario didn’t bear thinking about.
JP scratched his chin.
“Will we go for a cod and chips after this one?”
“Yeah. Why not. Makes sense.”
“Sounds good to me”.
It had been a slightly different night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 