Small Town (Alcoholic) Boy...

Ever hear the song by Bronksi Beat “Small town boy”? No? It’s a classic – you should go listen to it. GO! NOW!! The lyrics are rather fitting to this article, in a sense…but not a necessity to read it (but seriously, a bloody good song to listen to anyway!).

So, we all know that “Small Town Syndrome” exists, and by small town syndrome I mean that there are people within those said small towns that stay there forever, become increasingly frustrated at their situation ; shit out a baby or two, get married…and drink (not necessarily always in that order – but more times than not). Now I’m not belittling people in this situation, in fact, had I not been born into the family I was born, maybe I too would be a troublesome arsehole that sits around the local pubs leering at town’s women and itching for a fight…you know, just to pass the time…until that next drink, but I do think that these people are not only a drain on societies resources, but also oxygen. If only these people would just go read a book already, they would see that there really is a life out there, with some amazing things to see and do, and perhaps then, then they might realise that they could make a difference in their life time, and leave behind a legacy that made a difference to people’s lives, and not just bad memories in the minds of those that they inevitably leave behind.

What am I talking about? Well, this weekend I was in small town in Clare called Ennistymon, a lovely town actually, full of some very nice people with great fun and stories instilled in them – and some lovely pubs too. But it wouldn’t be a democratic society if we didn’t have one or two shagless fools to ruin what could be a wonderful town. Allow me to give you the scenario, via script ;

INT. DALY’S PUB --  NIGHT

DEL, an archetype male who is perhaps overly groomed for his surroundings walks into a small narrow pub – the walls are white and made of old rock but discoloured, the tiles on the floor are unkempt, the walls display old pub memorabilia and there is a new fangled jukebox on the wall that looks rather out of place.

The walk into the bar is a tight squeeze as countless people are stood around having a good time, and there are those that have been implanted at the bar since midday that are seemingly nonchalant about the necessity of fire exits, what have you. Music blares loudly as a DJ plays music from the current charts and this looks like a good spot to be in for the night.

DEL is accompanied by his, tonight it must be said, rather spectacular looking girlfriend, T, who is an (ex-)resident of the town, and is possibly dressed too finely for the institution they find themselves in.

They sit and have a drink and a laugh.

A DRUNK (cunt) at the bar, with a shaggy ginger beard, tightly cut ginger hair and an unflattering appearance spots DEL and T and begins to leer rather blatantly at T. This is accepted, ignored and mocked – quietly.

The young couple sit in their snug spot and drink some more, but...oh no...the drinks have run dry.

T goes to the bar to get in a round leaving DEL momentarily sat on his own.

*Cue Jaws theme music*

DRUNKY stumbles towards the table, one step carefully placed in front of the other so as not to spill the pint in hand (not looking unlike a geriatric at a buffet), with his gut hanging out. Bleary eyed he stares at the innocent DEL, who at this point now looks like a Zebra in the wilderness, but tries his hardest to display an exterior of indifference – the drunk too is indifferent, but towards DEL’S indifference.

The drunk stands at the gap between tables waiting for DEL to give up his seat.

DEL sits whistling a quiet impromptu tune looking about anywhere but in the direction of DRUNKY.

DRUNKY, becoming increasingly infuriated forces his way between the tables, drops his shoulder and quite physically shunts DEL from one end of the table to the other in one foul whoosh. DEL just smiles and ignores this ignorant infringement and sips at his non-existent drink from his see through empty glass tumbler, knowing that being from Dublin, not only will his accent give DRUNKY an allowance to hop him, but no one will step in to defend an “outsider” (home advantage matters!), so he keeps quiet (although he would ever so much like to react to the escalating situation).  

DRUNKY, not having attainted the reaction he so desired proceeds to flex his RIGHT BICEP in the face of DEL, in a rather primitive fashion (this possibly could be how fights are presented in a small town, much like a female panda bending over – but it could be a case by case thing...).

DEL still ignores this pretty funny, but at the same time slightly frightening suggestion, as you see, DEL is not a fighter, nor has he ever been in a fight (a fact displayed by his perfectly shaped nose – a curse of sorts), and tonight is going to be like all those other nights where he dodged punches or talked his way out of trouble, or, at least he hopes so.

DRUNKY, now aggrieved that DEL has not reacted favourably in a negative fashion and proceeds to bitterly spit out a slurred comment ;

DRUNKY:

I’d LUV taa geddup’ on that – hic’ ride thattt.

DEL sits still (hoping that if he doesn’t move, maybe DRUNKY won’t be able to see him – like a locked T-Rex) and smiles at T who is now stood at the bar staring back at this clearly threatening situation.

DRUNKY, having not achieved one thing in his life that he is actually capable of achieving, other than ordering a pint and wiping his arse (actually, the Jury may still be out on the latter, but still, a high achiever in the alcoholic waste of space stakes) reiterates his comment, but has altered the degree of English essential to get the negative comment across in case DEL is so much an “out-of-towner”, he possibly doesn’t even speak (pigeon) English.

DRUNKY: 

LUV ta fuk THATTttt….(incoherent slur/drunken hiccup)…TITSSsss.

T realising the situation asks a pretty female friend (thus stealing DRUNKY’s attention away by giving him something pretty to leer at, in close quarters) to intervene and sit between the quarrelsome (on one part) duo.

T arrives back at the table, the story of how DRUNKY stumbled from point A (at the bar) to point B (where they’re sat – a feat of sorts for this drunken dick-head) and tried to lure DEL into a situation beyond his abilities (his nose would like to stay in shape) is reiterated.

The drinks are floored, but not obviously – in case DRUNKY smells the fear, and the young couple make like DRUNKY’S social income – and disappear.

Walking out the door –

DEL (whispers): 

Dickhead.

-          and feels marginally better.

END

And that was it – that was my Saturday night out in Ennistymon (well actually, there was lots more – but it doesn’t make for entertainment as it was far too pleasant a time in a much nicer pub!). Reading this script back I guess I feel somewhat bad that I’ve labelled the small town for their drunken waster of an ambassador, when quite possibly I should be focusing on the drunken muppet in question solely, as this could be any town or city on a Saturday night, only well, it wasn’t, for you see it’s not a town that defines people, but rather, the people define a town, and with wasters like this just causing trouble for the sake of it, or because of their general unhappiness, towns should take a stance and disregard certain folk and allow them starve to death. It was only upon discussion later in the night that I learned this man is married and has three children, and automatically I didn’t feel so bad that he had been an arsehole to me, but that he is such an arsehole to his family – drinking away their money and giving them a poor image of what it is to be a grown-up, especially his sons, thus unfortunately, the realistic scenario is that I may well be back in this town in twenty years time, and instead of this drunk twat giving me grief, it will be his offspring.

I also had to assess what it was about me that he would want to inflict pain upon me. I mean, how can an unknown entity (me) cause such inner conflict within one person (Drunky) that they would want to react in a negative physical manner? “Maybe it’s my hair?” I thought – it is kind of styled and has a flippy-fringe thing going on these days – like a “boyband reject”, I’ve been told (gotta love honesty!). “Maybe it’s the t-shirt and shirt combo?” – some people aren’t fans of this style I know… Hmmm…was it solely that I was with one of the girls from this guys town that is prettier than most the girls in that neck of the woods? Really? Is that it? All it would take to risk a law suit (“If you hit me I’ll sue” – yeah, I’m just that cowardly I’d say that!) and put his family into financial disrepair? ... And the sad truth is that was it. Man’s primitive nature of lust takes hold, especially when he is a raging and unhappy alcoholic (is there any other kind?) and no man will stand in the way of that – especially if he has a flippy-fringe thing and a devoid sense of fashion going on, I guess, kind of a bonus to hit a guy like that even…”yeaaaah – the big gay woofter!!!”

(Side note : There were a gay couple of men (very sound guys) in the bar on this night that got zero hassle – and yet I got it...think I’d best re-evaluate my image!)

Fortuitously, I escaped without injury, and though this altercation would barely register as one, I do feel that people from small towns should try stamp out this behaviour. I mean, when a town is so full of fun, nice and genuine people, why should it get a poor reputation because of a handful of fucknuts? It wouldn’t be that difficult to rid themselves of em’ even – just close the pubs in the town and prohibit the sale of alcohol for a week, thus forcing the fuckers into melt down after they realise just how big a waste of skin they are...and don’t save them when they try to hang themselves or jump off the Cliff’s of Moher. Simples. The bonus? Not only would families be allowed progress and the town grow, but I might even be able to enjoy my drink next time – I hate having to neck/rush a drink....

Drunky.....you owe me a drink you bastard...ah, I’ll leave you off – you gave me a blog – have one yourself – you totally deserve it, ya big useless prick!!!