Begorrah - it's St. Pat's Day!
Yes, to be sure, it's St.Patrick's Day again. Bejasus, top o' the morning to ya, etc etc. The time when the whole world (well, it seems like it) pretends to be Irish. Well, that stereotypical oirishness that basically involves drinking to excess. As if all irish people are Shane McGowan. Obviously, I enthusiastically embrace it, green pints and all. U2 on every jukebox. Shamrocks on the top of guinness heads. Nasty green plastic leprechaun's hat. Dancing comedy riverdance-style. Getting very, very ratted.
Nothing special about the day to start off though. I spent most of the morning trying to track down a defaulting guest at the hostel. There are these two guys who have been staying for the last couple of weeks who constantly dress as cowboys. Honestly. I have never seen them without their hats, even around the pool. Apparently they are real ringers from somewhere in the bush. Perhaps they got lost trying to get to Rockhampton, Australia's very own Wild West town. Whatever, one of them has got behind on his rent and is being chased left, right and centre for money owing by various people. One of them me. Anyway, today I almost caught him: as I was going into his room (I made the mistake of knocking first) I noticed a movement by the curtains. By the time I got to the balcony he was already letting himself down on to the corrugated roof below and made good his escape before I could get back down. It's only a matter of time though - I've asked our night-time security guard, an enormous Maori called Kingy, to get him tonight.
After work was when I could begin the day's festivities in full. The two stoners I live with were off to the Green Ant Cantina and invited me along. Normally I would go as it is one of my favourite places, but tonight it failed the Paddy Test. It probably doesn't even serve Guinness or force it's staff to paint their faces with shamrocks and wear green. No, tonight it would be PJ O'Brien's, the reliably fake Irish theme pub in the centre of town. Arriving early to avoid the queues I entered and straight away knew it was right. U2 on the juke box: check. Staff dressed as leprechauns and leprechaunesses: check. Guinness being drunk by people who normally would never touch the stuff: check. An unusual amount of green everywhere: check. Everybody getting plastered: check.
The usual drunken reprobates were there: Damian (nick-named "Crazy Kid") who holds a VIP membership card for the place, reportedly for spending over $10,000 in 3 months in the place. Ulli, our german receptionist, probably the only sober person there. Ben, the sleazy alcoholic catering manager. And Tony, wearing a leprechaun hat and only barely able to stand. In fact, about 10 minutes later the bouncer came over and told him to leave after he finished his beer. Which despite switching to water led to him being ejected and temporarily barred. I took turns to wear the hat and dance jigs, while glugging guinness. After the rest moved on to Gilligans I stayed a while chatting to a german backpacker who had been charmed by our alternately slapping her arse and pretending it was someone else act. As she had a broken foot and didn't fancy moving I left and lurched to Gilligans where I could use my staff discount for cheaper drinks. And marvel at those who bought beer with green food dye added.
Today is the typical aftermath for the 18th March: a fuzzy head and general "morning after" feeling. Doubtless the same the world over for millions of people. Nothing else planned except working for the weekend, and probably some time to catch up on my studying.
Nothing special about the day to start off though. I spent most of the morning trying to track down a defaulting guest at the hostel. There are these two guys who have been staying for the last couple of weeks who constantly dress as cowboys. Honestly. I have never seen them without their hats, even around the pool. Apparently they are real ringers from somewhere in the bush. Perhaps they got lost trying to get to Rockhampton, Australia's very own Wild West town. Whatever, one of them has got behind on his rent and is being chased left, right and centre for money owing by various people. One of them me. Anyway, today I almost caught him: as I was going into his room (I made the mistake of knocking first) I noticed a movement by the curtains. By the time I got to the balcony he was already letting himself down on to the corrugated roof below and made good his escape before I could get back down. It's only a matter of time though - I've asked our night-time security guard, an enormous Maori called Kingy, to get him tonight.
After work was when I could begin the day's festivities in full. The two stoners I live with were off to the Green Ant Cantina and invited me along. Normally I would go as it is one of my favourite places, but tonight it failed the Paddy Test. It probably doesn't even serve Guinness or force it's staff to paint their faces with shamrocks and wear green. No, tonight it would be PJ O'Brien's, the reliably fake Irish theme pub in the centre of town. Arriving early to avoid the queues I entered and straight away knew it was right. U2 on the juke box: check. Staff dressed as leprechauns and leprechaunesses: check. Guinness being drunk by people who normally would never touch the stuff: check. An unusual amount of green everywhere: check. Everybody getting plastered: check.
The usual drunken reprobates were there: Damian (nick-named "Crazy Kid") who holds a VIP membership card for the place, reportedly for spending over $10,000 in 3 months in the place. Ulli, our german receptionist, probably the only sober person there. Ben, the sleazy alcoholic catering manager. And Tony, wearing a leprechaun hat and only barely able to stand. In fact, about 10 minutes later the bouncer came over and told him to leave after he finished his beer. Which despite switching to water led to him being ejected and temporarily barred. I took turns to wear the hat and dance jigs, while glugging guinness. After the rest moved on to Gilligans I stayed a while chatting to a german backpacker who had been charmed by our alternately slapping her arse and pretending it was someone else act. As she had a broken foot and didn't fancy moving I left and lurched to Gilligans where I could use my staff discount for cheaper drinks. And marvel at those who bought beer with green food dye added.
Today is the typical aftermath for the 18th March: a fuzzy head and general "morning after" feeling. Doubtless the same the world over for millions of people. Nothing else planned except working for the weekend, and probably some time to catch up on my studying.
posted by Hamish @ 3:04 pm
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