EEJITS

It was a look that could have stopped a freight train travelling at warp speed. JP, Mono and Rasher idled into Donleavy’s and someone was sitting on JP’s barstool. It was probably just an innocent mistake by an uninitiated individual, but it was still as near as possible that you can get to a hanging offence outside the judicial system. It had been a long time since it had happened and that was clearly the reason why JP just stopped dead, flanked by his trusty lieutenants, arranged in an arrow-like format bearing down on the unfortunate individual who had the temerity to occupy the hallowed space. In fairness to Donleavy – he spotted it – with all the expertise that an experienced bar owner brings to these situations. Before the three lads had re-engaged first gear, Donleavy had had a quiet word with the poor unfortunate and offered him a ‘much nicer’ barstool in a different location in the bar. One that was also out of eyeline of JP so as to save the poor unfortunate the daggers of stares that would no doubt have ensued from the near encounter. The situation was saved.

It took a little while extra for the lads to settle themselves down after that unexpected interruption and delay in getting to their barstools. Perhaps an additional buttock movement before equilibrium was established….or maybe a few more deep breaths before shoulders fully relaxed. Whatever it was – there was a hiatus before the deep and meaningful conversation, for which the lads were renowned, could commence.

“Feckin’ eejit.”

This evening it was Mono who initiated the engagement.

JP and Rasher nodded in total agreement and understanding and without any further elaboration required as to whom our bar room warrior may be referring.

There was a communal shaking of heads and a combination of various ‘tsk’s’. Donleavy, for his part, had produced three pints to place in front of them in rapid quick time. Perhaps Donleavy felt some form of responsibility for allowing this near drama to unfold.

The three lads watched their pints settle with an unfailing curiosity and appreciation. The magic and mystery that unfolded until black delineated from white never ceased to enthral them. Once separation was achieved three hands went out in perfect formation and with matching arcs the first drink of the night was given a green light and made a perfect landing. Oral reflections of satisfaction ensued. The world had moved into becoming a calmer place. The calmness took its place right throughout that pint….and the next one….and a large part of the third one….with hardly a word exchanged. In fact, it was coming up to the re-order level of pint three before the conversation became initiated.

“Eejits”.

Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono.

“Well – “eejit” really, JP. There was only one of him.”

JP confidently gave the nod that the pint could be drained because he could see Donleavy beginning to walk down the bar with their incoming. OK to have an empty glass now. Only other time acceptable to have an empty glass being the end of the evening.

“No. I mean eejits in general. The world is full of bleedin’ eejits.”

There was a certain obviousness and universality to that statement, so the two boys nodded in sage agreement. Rasher, however, felt the subject deserved a bit more granularity.

“Give us a bit more of wha’ yer thinkin’ there JP.”

JP imperceptibly gave the signal that it would be wise to go for another round of synchronous imbibing before responding – so each of our heroes reached out and performed another wetting of the whistle. JP then felt more emboldened to respond.

“Where do I bleedin’ start? Cars! We could go on forever about cars.”

Mono felt this was a subject also close to his heart and chimed in immediately:

“Jayzus, yeah. There are still eejits out there not wearin’ seat belts.”

“….and lookin’ at mobile phones. Or worse – textin’.”

“….or maybe sextin’.”

They all had a guffaw at that one.

“….or smokin’ with kids in the car.”

“Jayzus. Yeah. Awful.”

“….or bleedin’ weaver birds goin’ in and out of lanes and for wha’? Gettin’ forward in the traffic by two or three cars.”

“Jayzus. Yeah. They’re right feckin’ eejits.”

“….or tailgaters. I mean wha’ the feck are they playin’ at?”

They had exercised their ideas in quick succession and now the pace slowed a little. Time for some gazing into the mirror that ran the whole length of the spirit bar counter behind that eclectic range of spirits that Donleavy had built up over time.  JP took his time with the next contribution. He harumped a few times and this was always a signal that what would next ensue would not be as direct and straightforward as his typical approach.

“Ya know lads. I’m a bit reluctant to say what I’m goin’ say next.”

The boys egged him on with verification of ‘all being friends here’ and ‘what’s said in Donleavy’s – stays in Donleavy’s’.

“Well, ya know I smoked a pipe for a long number of years.”

They nodded.

“Well – I’m not proud of it.”

Mono and Rasher assured him that they were “different” times.

“….and I know ya mentioned smokin’ in the car with kids.”

More nodding.

“….but isn’t smokin’ or vapin’ just the top of the heap of pure eejit-try. I mean yer lungs aren’t designed for that. Ya wouldn’t hold yer head over the smoke from a fire. And yer goin’ to die young and probably painfully. And yer goin’ be coughin’ and being more sick in the winter. And ya smell shite. And yer clothes smell shite. And yer mouth tastes like the soot in a chimney. How can tha’ make sense?”

The lads nearly lost their heads from nodding.

“No. I am not proud of meself for smokin’ that bleedin’ pipe. What a feckin’ turnip head I was.”

The lads did their best to support their pal with guarantees of minimum damage and seeing the light and great recovery and informed action and resolve and clarity of thought and all the other things you would say to a friend who has been a stupid fecker.

Further trips to the pint glasses were absolutely necessary at this juncture. Mono and Rasher were a little uncomfortable with JP’s outpouring of personal eejit-try. It was necessary to get things back on a less personal keel. Mono was the man.

“Tell me something. How much shaggin’ harder is an adult’s skull than a child’s? Tell me tha’.”

JP revelled in this type of question. It was right up his street.

“Well, harder for sure. I mean, I think around eight or nine years old a kids skull starts to get a bit harder.”

There was a pause.

“Why’d ya ask, Mono.”

“Well, bear with me on this one. So – the adult skull is harder. But if ya took this adult and bashed his or her head off a rock and if ya took the child and bashed his or her head off a rock – would there be a big difference?”

JP looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at JP. JP felt like he should be the one to bring his learned expertise in this area to the response.

“Well – I think ya’d have a dacent bit of skin, bone and blood messin’ up the rock.”

Mono let this one sink in for a while.

“Well will ya bleedin’ tell me then – when the family are all out cyclin’ their bikes – why Mammy and Daddy think they’re being so feckin’ responsible havin’ the kids with cycling helmets and they themselves have none? Is it so the kids will be able to push the wheelchair when the parent is brain damaged after all the skin, bone and blood is cleaned off the rock?”

There was more communal nodding. More importantly there was also another visit to the pint glasses. Critically the level in the glass was approaching and passing the recognised reorder point and as no-one had signalled, then the subliminal message was clearly that the night was approaching its denouement. JP had one final reflection on the evening.

“D’ya know, its funny. Most of our eejit comments have been about road users.”

“Jayzus, yeah.”

“Yer bang on.”

The shared a knowing look.

“We could have gone for phones and screen and social meeja for a massive population of bleedin’ eejits.”

“Too right.”

“Next time.”

“Give Donleavy the nod there. We’ll go for a battered cod and chips.”

Just another night in Donleavy’s.