"I say, Newt, happy St. Paddy's Day."
"I say, Gimmick, happy Excuse-for-Drinking-Is-He-Really-A-Saint-Day to you."
"Did you know that the reason St. Patrick's Day is celebrated on the 17th is because they couldn't ascertain whether he died on the 8th or the 9th, so they added the numbers together?"
"I did not know that. And I know everything that could possibly be known."
"I don't know what kind of company I'll be tonight. I'm in a bit of a mood."
"Me neither. But that's ok, we can observe the rituals before us. Arrrrrr."
"Good. We need not speak. You sound like a pirate."
"Arrrrrr."
"Arrrrrr."
Newton stares at her mitts. Gimmick is mesmerized, for hexagonal prisms were sometimes landing, but more frequently ricocheting like laser beams off them. Apparently, in space, these black mitts appear every now and then and may be seen by the lucky ones as they wave past spaceship windows.
After a wait of an hour and a half, our heroines finally get into the gathering place of those who consume alcohol. It does not appear full and they wonder what sort of power trip the bouncers are on, making them stand in the increasingly cold darkness outside.
A threesome enters, a pair of whom are married. They are a friendly trio who like to raise their glasses in a toast with Gimmick and Newton, who really did not want to socialize with anybody.
Enter Bernoulli.To Newton, who sits closest to the bar and is an easier target, "Hi", he flashes a drunken grin, "what are your names?"
"I'm Newton, she's Gimmick." Bernoulli doesn't seem to believe her. He may have fallen victim to the use of "aliases for making asses" and appears suspicious.
"Can I buy you girls drinks?"
"Why do you want to buy us drinks?", Gimmick queried.
"Someone over there won a lot of money."
Newton tries her best to say "no" with a smile, but she catches Gimmick's wide-eyed nod. Gimmick is thirsty and likes drinks. Newton has a change of heart and agrees to the drinks. Suddenly, Gimmick fears that he may drop Rohypnol into the beers and watches carefully as the bartender hands the pints over to Bernoulli.
Before Bernoulli returns, some panic sets in as Gimmick and Newton realize that they may very well be stuck talking to Bernoulli. This would be fine if he were a conversation specialist, but if the earlier brief discourse was any indication, this seemed miles away from Ireland.
Thankfully, Bernoulli simply hands them the drinks and leaves.
Or so they thought... Berni, more inebriated than before, asks Newton what she would be called if she weren't Newton. Newton's response was not audible. He then asks the same of Gimmick.
"Just Gimmick is fine."
"How did you come to be called Gimmick."
"I don't know, but I'm sure glad I'm called that."
Berni leaves, but later, a sceptical friend also questions their names. Gimmick soon regrets not having quipped, "Well, my momma, she got pregnant as a gimmick, see, then I popped out."
Around Gimmick and Newton, Irish folk tunes fill the air, thick with beer breath. Mmmmmm, yeah, that's right, sniff that, ooooh yeah. They observe that the married couple has left their friend behind.
He is rubbing a blonde woman's knee. She seems to enjoy this. Gimmick and Newton avert their eyes, but in a minute's time, they observe peripherally that the blonde girl is peeved. She rises from her chair, as Mr. Man seems to caress her bottom. It appears she has had enough, though, and proceeds to talk to another man at the table behind her. She then slow dances with another young lad.
As she becomes acquainted with the male patrons, a wavy-haired, self-proclaimed Scottish lass talks to Mr. Man. She gestures that he has obviously done something wrong. Gimmick looks away, watching the band play, for but a couple of blinks. This is, of course, enough time for Scotty and Mr. Man to lock lips.
Gimmick and Newton, despite their individual and combined genius, are at a loss. Here, in this dank establishment whose walls echo the chronicles of Irish yarns and truths, their powers of deduction and induction lost purpose. Just when they had recovered their composure and were satisfied with the knowledge that Mr. Man had found someone new, she too became indignant and walked away.
That's'aright, coz Berni returned, with his friend Blue Eyes.Blue Eyes seemed to engage Newton's attention readily enough, or so Gimmick thought. He asked what Gimmick's occupation is outside of the pub, and was told that she is a pianist and amateur photographer. He asked whether she plays anywhere and did not seem impressed that she worked for an institute of high-cost occasional learning.
Berni then became rather comfortable next to Gimmick.
"So why don't you do a Master's?"
"I will, someday."
"Where do you work?"
"At an Institute of High-Cost Occasional Learning."
"Who's your boss? What's his name?"
"She's female. Her name is Nancy."
"What did Nancy study?"
"English."
"Do you think what you studied is better than what she studied."
Ok. What the hell kind of question is that?"Time is your prerogative. You can do whatever you want. How old are you? 17, 18?..."
Why is a 39-yr-old man buying a 17-, 18-year-old drinks? Geez Louise!! "When I was your age, I was nothing. I'm still nothing."
"Oh come now, no you're not."
"No it's true. I'm nothing."
"Then why should I listen to you?," Gimmick frowned, to which Bernoulli replied, "Good point. I like you. If you ever run for office, I will vote for you. I'll do anything you want. Honestly. Anything. I'm worth 25 million."
"Thanks."
And with that, Gimmick turned to watch the band.
In the meantime, Newton has had a conversation about how TV is bad and commented on how kids watch too much of it. Blue Eyes proudly proclaimed that he has kids and he sits them in front of the TV all the time. He didn't seem to know what else to do with them. Not even, oh, I don't know, handing them a little book, maybe.
Blue Eyes then left, disappointed perhaps that he did not find acquiescense in Newton's eyes.
But oh! What do Gimmick and Newton see?!! Why, the blonde woman seems to be making gestures of reconciliation toward Mr. Man!! Oooooh...WRONG!She growls, "Fuck you! You're what they call a "Bay Street Quickie"!
This is a term? Seriously? Mr. Man had nothing to say but, "Buhh.....? Duhh....." as he blinked, obviously too drunk to know exactly what the fight is about.
Newton and Gimmick longed for the world outside, where, even if many things did not make sense, they were not of the nature of goings-on in dark, cavernous watering holes. (Well, ok, they are at times, but not concentrated in a small, increasingly surrealistic enclosure.)
It's comforting, however, that the saintly life of Patrick is remembered and made holy with a sprinkling of blessed Guinness, a friendly gathering of the congregation, and a fervent renunciation of the Bay Street Quickie Devil.
