“Mr. Shamrock” has to be the most unlikeable Leprechaun in the history of “Lucky Charms!” Not to mention, one of my strangest encounters ever.
One day, I went to visit my husband at work. At the time, he had just gotten a new job managing and bartending at a pub nearby. Normally, I wouldn’t stop in, because I almost always had our two young daughters with me, but this evening I was all alone and felt like having a cocktail.
I entered through the side door and walked straight to the bar, where my husband was busy mixing drinks and filling beer mugs. I waited for him to take a breath, and then I moved in closer for a quick hug. As I did, a rather large, reasonably intoxicated, true native New Yorker, sitting across the bar, with his half unbuttoned shirt showing his unnaturally hairy chests, screamed over to us, “Why does he always get the love? Why doesn’t anyone ever hug me?”
My husband, being a nice guy, whispered to me to go say hello. For a Tuesday night the place was hopping. There was a band playing, and people were all over the place, dancing and playing pool and darts. To avoid walking around the entire crowded bar, despite my own reluctance, I dipped under the bar and cut through to the other side. Before I could even get my balance back from my little Limboing act, Mr. Shamrock had already scooped me up in between his legs, while he was seated in a large, armed barstool, and with one quick pull, he had managed to squeeze me into his overweight, sweaty body. Now, with his arms wrapped nearly all the way around me, he caught me off guard and kissed me right on my mouth.
I was mortified. I could smell the liquor and cigarettes on his breath, and I could feel his damp shirt pressing against my petrified body. I tried to squirm out of his grip. He had to be at least three times my size, drunk and frisky, but I quickly wiggled to my escape and rushed back under the bar to the other side, where it seemed safer.
I did not stay long, after that. I didn’t even have a drink, even though at that moment I felt like I needed a couple of shots and shower in sanitizer! I wanted so badly to tell my husband what that idiot just did, but I knew it would be a distraction to his work. I didn’t want to start any trouble, this being a new job and all, so, I took one for the team and just said my goodbyes.
The next morning, however, while my husband and I were talking about how his night had gone, he told me the craziest story. According to Joey, “Mr. Shamrock got so drunk last night that after last call he passed out on the pull-out couch, by the front door, naked!”
“What?” I gasped.
“Yup, naked as a Jaybird and drunker than a sailor. Just like the last two nights I’ve worked.”
“Oh my goodness,” I interrupted. “That man is disgusting! Why didn’t you just toss his butt out?” I questioned.
But before I could finish my thought, my husband interrupted me and said, “Because he might fire me!”
Stunned, I thought of all the unfriendly things I almost said to him in my rudest Jersey tone. Not to mention, all the things I imagine my husband doing to him after I told him how he manhandled me. Until it all settled in, and I realized, “Holy crap, the drunk guy is my husband’s new boss!”
What can you do? It’s rough to make an honest living, but that my friends is why for the last 20 years I chose to serve coffee for a living instead of cocktails.
Laugh on. Peace out!
Lisa DeMarco is a waitress at Billy’s Cafe and columnist for Villages-News.com
