another from the archives

Tuesday, October 01, 2002

 

Nothing beats a drunken laywer for eavesdropping potential. And you can usually find some at the Irish Heather, particularly after court gets out every day. Give them an hour or so to pump some beer in there and away they go!

 

But I must say that the perfectly sober woman who presented Sean Heather with a watermelon turnip makes a pretty fine eavesdropping subject as well. As she all-too-well knows, I'm sure. Apparently she does the vegetable-presentation thing alot. It must be some sort of obscure religious ritual; perhaps there is tofu involved in some of the ceremonies. All I can say is it probably doesn't get many converts.

 

Certainly not Sean Heather. Let me tell you how it was…

 

So there I was, sitting quietly ringside, staring up at the big painting of the staff and regulars that has that interesting story which we have already discussed, at length, in this very blog, and she walked in. A pocket-sized brunette in a short skirt and a denim vest, she looked about forty.

 

"Oh it's you." says Sean.

 

"Oh, you love to see me."

 

"Oh yeah, sure I do," he says, all underwhelmed-sounding. You get the feeling they do this dance alot, like an old married couple. "And what are you drinking today?"

 

Surprisingly, she gives him a little lecture on the nature of his beer-based cocktails. Perhaps she reads the blog. Hi. But I think she finally decided on a Guinness. This was, apparently, no surprise to the host. They dance a little more:

 

"Is Roger in today?"

 

"No, that was him on the phone a minute ago. I told him you were here and now he's not coming in."

 

"Oh, you love me."

 

"And Roger loves you."

 

"Look what I've got for you," she says and he says nothing but "Oh God," and she reaches in her purse putting in her whole arm up to the armpit. The purse isn't that big; there must be a trapdoor to another universe or something like with Mary Poppins. She takes it out in a huge arc, like she's winding up to throw a pitch, and when the hand stops moving there is a large, white vegetable in it. She flourishes her free hand all around it like a spokesmodel on The Price Is Right.

 

"And what is that?" says mine host.

 

"It's a turnip…"

 

"Well, my gratitude knows no bounds. A turnip. Let me show you what happened to the last one…" and he goes into the kitchen.

 

The last one?

to be continued