(un)Lucky Pants

‘This pillow doesn’t smell or taste right’, i thought as I pulled my head up, the pillow case firmly stuck to the corner of my mouth. Jaegermeister. Nice.

My head is banging like a Venga Boys cult 90’s classic as I investigate my new surroundings. I turn over in the bed and I pull a cheeky smile as the bed sheets stuck to my mid section confirm what went down here but all of this stops in one giant freeze frame as I catch the sight of a young boy in the corner of the room.

FUCCCCK

I’ve never been more conscious of the fact that I am naked than now. He’s tapping away on a laptop, what looks to be Modern Warfare 2 and judging up his skills the kid has either the motor reflex skillset of an amazon jungle child or he’s retarded. Quick scan of the floor for my lucky Calvin Kleins….

“Hey there big guy…” the kid looks about 10 but is a prime candidate for The Biggest Loser in a couple years…. “I don’t suppose your sister is…”

“MAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! HEEEESSSS AFTAAAA WAAAAKKKINNN!!!!!” his head doesn’t move

FUCCCCK

Boxer search has gone up in priority as I hear movement downstairs. The kid is still merrily distracted and I am convinced he’s a dead ringer for that weird lookin’ lad out of the Goonies, I don’t hold too much hope of the kid being adopted.

Heavy footsteps up the creaky stairs now just as I spy a disgarded bra \ hammock on the floor, but no boxers.

FUCCCCK

Just at the last second I sit up in the bed and pull the sheets all the way up my chest and under my arms and give the floor one last quick glance. Oh shit what’s her name.

The door creaks open and in she bounds. Cup of coffee in hand. Not a bad start.
“Marnin’ soldier….haw are we , alri…” – Not as heavy as the creaky stairs had suggested. The face is nothing to update facebook about and i didn’t think pink velure was ever back in fashion.

She’s after giving the coffee to the retard.
“Ah yeah no worries…eh ya know yourself wha’ ” I’ve skangered up my accent to match hers. God know’s who or what i was last night.

“I don wan rush ya or wha bu i have to take lil jonny ‘er to his swimmin…” she says while slappin him on the ear.. “if he ever gets off the bleedin Playstation…”

I haven’t the time to correct her about the laptop thing because the hunt on the ground for my boxers has just been replaced by her darlin’ son’s namesake.

“Yeah, yeah no worries, sure i have to go to work myself anyways ya know so, yeah no worries”

“Gran’ job love, well i’ll be headin past your way n anways so drop ya ta work if ya like?” pushing the simp out the bedroom door dragging his knuckles on the ground behind him. “we be downstairs when yer ready Davie…”

FUCCCCK

Well that at least explains what name I gave her. As soon as the door closes over it’s out from the bed and into my jeans as soon as you can say ‘well woman clinic’, scanning the room for anything that will bring on a flashback of whatever went down last night. The room is strewn with pink shit, and the wall is plastered with old sun holiday photos of her with her mates and judging by her mates it’s apparent i didn’t get the pick of the litter here. But there doesn’t seem to be any ‘couple’ photos knocking around so with any luck a good aul beatin’ isn’t on the cards.

Still no sign of the jocks.

Watch off bedside locker and I’m away down the stairs having a nose as I go. And nose is right, the place smells like some one is after cross breeding a decomposing ferret with the smell of hair and crud you’d pull out of the bottom plug of the shower after a year . I’d seriously think about letting the fart I have brewing go just to improve the smell of the place but I’m sans jocks and I really can’t be taking chances like that in my hungover condition.

I loiter in the hall and spy the typical family photos. A communion one. Johnathon being flanked by his parents. I can immediately tell where he got his looks and his lazy eye from, they all look as if they are looking at different cameras. My mind wanders a bit, Debenhams……..37 euro ……. what a waste…..the last pair of the style I wanted too…..

“Don’t be botherin’ yer ballax with him…” she’s caught me mid trance gazing at the photo …

“ah yeah . . no just . . . yiz look well ya know…” i stammer while clearing my throat. You wouldn’t need a polygraph to account for the obvious nature of the lie i’ve just told, but she has actually taken it as a compliment and she starts gazing at the photo, maybe thinking of a time she was truly happy, when true love had given her the turn she had looked for all her life, when cupids arrow had flown….

“Da cunt’s doin a stretch up in Arbor Hill…. aggriva-ed burglary or some shit. Fuckin’ idiot wen’ n got caught, still gettin hiz welfare so the muppa is good for somethin’ wha….”

FUCCCCK

“WILL YA EVER BLEEDIN MOVE IT JONNY OR I’LL BLEEDIN BURY YA IN THE SAME PLOT I PUT YER BRUDDAR!!!!!” she bellows up the stairs…

– what the fuck have I gone and done –

“Ah don’t be worryin” she says while pattin me on the arse… “he doesn’t av a brudder but I like to threttin’ him with sumtin ya know…can be tough what with no fadder figure in der life ya know yerself”

The sight of her dolphin tattoo on her left breast has just triggered a vivid moment from the night before which immidiately caused the dislodging a lump of phlegm in the back of my throat…

“I’ll just be out side here in the car yeah, i wanna grab a smoke anyways…”

“Be with ya in a bit if yer buzzin out” ….She throws me the keys. More teddy bears and charms than keys. Her keyring tells me she’s a pisces and goes by the name of Kate. There’s a key ring in the shape of a mickey. I feel sick.

Opening the hall door to a welcome blast of fresh air up my nostrils I look around. No idea where the fuck I am. The place smells like musky chipper and council estate. The over grown front garden has all kinds of shit in it from a mouldy shower tray to a kids plastic trike. The kinda place where everyone leaves their key in the door

‘Ya couldn’t script this shit..’ I mutter as I try open the car door. A ‘92 Toyota Starlet. Possibly an LX model. Faded teal with a go faster rust stripe down the passenger side and what looks like someone has spilled battery acid on the bonnet. The word ‘FAG’ is etched into the thick dirt on the back passenger door.

I unstick my door with a sharp pull and it flings open as Jonny bustles past with sports bag, banging against me with his shoulder. If I hadn’t been so hungover i’d have given him some fatherly figure in the form of the back of my hand. Instead I push a load of McDonald’s wrappers and used tissues off the front seat onto the floor and sit down and feel for my smokes in my pocket. Just get me out of here I think. I don’t even give a shit about the boxers at this stage, if she hadn’t of offered me a lift I could be stuck fending for myself in this shithole. I spark up a marlboro light

“Giz a fuckin smoke wuddya” , the voice rasps from the back seat as Kate slams the front door of the house and walks to the car while shouting something to some kids in the next doors garden. …. “…go on giz a drag off dat…”

“Eh man, to be honest like ya know…”

“Jonny don’t be so fuckin rude” she spits while getting into the car, that strains and lurches under the weight. She takes out her own pack of John Player Blue and lights one up and throws the rest of the pack in the back seat. . . “ya better make dem fuckin last now, dem don’t bleedin grow on trees and ya still owe me…”

FUCCCCK

We bail up the road and I begin to get my bearings once we leave her estate. The small talk is staggered as we puff away, the smell of smoke drowning out the stench of the over kill of the Tweety-Pie air-freshener and stench coming from a pair of New Balance pink runners on the floor. Hardly used for the gym.

“Really had a good time last night so I did…” we’ve stopped at traffic lights and she’s run her hand onto my knee , “yer a mad fucka so ya are , ya know dat? . . .”, her hand runs up my leg… “a right mad bastard! WHA! HA” The light goes green and she takes her hand back to the suckin’ of teeth off yer man in the back.

The silence is broken by her ring tone. Mark McCabe Maniac. She answers on loudspeaker and throws the phone in her lap… “if da guards catch me on da phone id be fucked, sure dey took me licence last year….HELLO???”

“Howya Kate….ya drivin….” , another bird with a similar accent.

“Ah whats da bleedin story leeeesa….yeah im doin the swimmin dis marnin…fuckin state of me head after las night”

“Don’t bleedin start…will have to go up me ma’s now in a bit ta collec da twins…me arse is killin me…” I politely gaze out the window . . . “speekin of dat…did you ride tha fuckin’ eejit last night….”

Dear god.

“Ya bleedin’ mad thing ya. . he’s in da car here wit me”

“Jaysis yisser doin it in the bleedin’ car! Scarla for ya..”

“G’wan will ya…”

“Right well this fella here is wakin up and I’m fucked if I’m kartin him home to wherever he lives…”

FUCCCCK

We drive past the entrance to my estate and I thank god that I didn’t let slip where I actually live, but then again I can’t remember exactly where I told her I worked either. Jonny’s disproportionately sized legs keep on kicking my back through he seat and I know the fucker is doing it on purpose.

“Jaysis it’s busy around here….” She narrowly misses a City-Link coach coming off a roundabout.

We’ve taken a turn into the airport and I blush a bit as I vaguely remember what I said I worked at last night.

“Wha’s best for you here now…”

“Eh , sure just throw up me to departures there and….”

“Ha, jaysis sorry…yeah that’d make bleedin sense alright….the state of me…” I must have told her I was a pilot.

We pull up at departures and she parks the car. I go to open my seat belt but its sticking and it just adds to the tension.

“Right well I better go in and get sorted…”

“Yeah sound love…” She reaches over to kiss me at which point the seat belt comes free and my hand jerks up and grazes around the Dolphin territory.

“Oooh you’re a keen one!” she only catches my cheek

‘”Fer fuck sake ma…im gonna be late”,  I couldn’t agree more with the shithead than now.

“Well listen I’ll catch ya again, cheers for the lift n’ all. . . yer very good…I don’t wanna keep ya late..”

“Sure thing babe. . . c’mere I don’t spose I could hit ya for a few quid Davie, only I need to get some petrol and I don’t draw till Tuesday marnin”

“God yeah, sure no problem, let me just….”,  great exit cue I think as I practically have to Paul O’Connell the door to get it to open. Reach for my wallet when I get out of the car and my heart sinks when I see a single yellow crisp one lying there on its own. I half pull it out… “well eh…”

“Ah jaysis yer very good…sure I’ll grab a bit of lunch as well when Jonny is in swimmin’ so…” , she clasps onto it….

“‘IM GETTIN’ A BURGA OUTTA THA MA”

She leans across the passenger seat for another kiss, spilling completely out of her 4 sizes too small top. I pretend not to notice and close the door over but it takes two attempts before the door clicks. Free at last. I can hear through the car door the young fella still claiming his stake on their windfall.

I walk into the Departures area and loiter for a minute. Looking out, the car is still there and she’s shouting at some Airport Policeman who probably has told her it’s a set down area only. An over-rev in first gear and away they go. The fucks.

I limp my way out from the airport building and pull my watch out of my pocket and put it on. 11.45, at least not a bad hour to ring someone looking for a lift considering I’ll probably be on next months Crime Call how easy she robbed me of fifty lids. I adjust my jeans and decide I can’t walk any further due to the chaffing. I go to light another cigarette, she’s lifted my lighter as well, could it get any worse, reaching in my pocket for my phone to begin the ringing of potential friend-taxis and as soon as my hand touches my phone it becomes very apparent that it can ALWAYS be worse….BEEP BEEP

FUCCCCK