The Saint Paddy’s Day Fire
My wife hated being around drinkers, so when she took my grandmother barhopping she’d often leave her with her barstool friends, and go to the library and read for a few hours. One day, after returning from the library, my grandmother spotted her entering through the front door of the bar. “Oh, you’re home!” she exclaimed. Yep, that about summed up my grandmother’s attitude toward bars.
My wife had lost a lot of weight, after once being very heavy. She knew firsthand how hard it is to struggle with obesity, and had a lot of empathy for the overweight. But now and then the barroom banter would turn to fat people, and everyone would make judgmental remarks and wise cracks, including my grandma. So my wife would pipe up and observe, “Eating is an addiction. Just like drinking.” That would usually shut the crowd up.
Grandma was gregarious and loved being in the middle of barroom banter. But she especially loved talking with men. That’s because she loved men. Her favorite gender was male, and she was a natural flirt with this usually horny species. And she treated every bar as if it was a singles bar.
Although she’d flirt with the guys, the funny thing was, she never dated any of them. She was a widow, and apparently no man could ever match up to what she had with my grandpa. But she did seem to enjoy trying to get men excited over her.
When she was about 90, she bought a water bra to perk her tits up. Then she’d hug her male drinking buddies and announce, “I’m wearing a water bra!” Somehow she thought that made her more attractive.
One day she entered a drinking establishment that was mostly empty. Nobody occupied any tables, but two men were draped over at the bar, spaced apart by a vacant stool. Grandma could have planted her ass anywhere. But she loved men, so the elderly coquette ambled up to these two macho elbow-benders and claimed the vacant stool between them. This was my grandma’s version of a threesome.
My wife dreaded Saint Paddy’s Day. Or Saint Patrick’s Day, for the sober minded. But Grandma’s mind was always sharp enough to remember when March 17th had arrived, and my wife would end up spending the day, barhopping her all over town. Grandma’s favorite watering hole for slurping green beer was at a joint called Murphy’s Bar. But of course, with that name!
Murphy’s Bar was located in a strip mall, directly below a floor of apartments. Behind it was a donut shop, and next to the donut shop was a laundromat. One March 17th, my wife sat Grandma down at a table next to the front door at Murphy’s, then headed over to the donut shop where she could be away from the drinkers.
She was just lifting a cup of coffee to her lips when a lady ran into the donut shop and frantically announced that there was a big fire in the laundromat next door. The donut shop owner immediately dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher ordered her to evacuate the donut shop, and go around to all the other businesses in the strip mall and warn them to evacuate also. So my wife piped up and deputized herself to perform this civic duty at Murphy’s Bar.
“Fire! Fire!” my wife bellowed, as she hustled through the front door of Murphy’s. Nothing. The bar was packed, but nobody so much as lifted a head or an eyebrow, to pay her any attention. “Hey, did you hear me!” my wife yelled again. “There’s a fire at the laundromat next door, and the fire department wants everyone to get out!”
An annoyed patron looked at her asquint and slurred, “Siddown an’ shuddup!”
“But you don’t understand!” my wife persisted. “The laundromat’s on fire! Everyone has to evacuate!” Now she had everyone’s attention. They all glared at her, including the bartender, and hollered back, “Lady, sit down and shut up! We’re not going anywhere! We don’t smell any smoke!”
They looked like they were ready to kill her. Suddenly my wife realized that all these drunks with their precious green beer were more dangerous than any fire. She feared one of them might get violent with her if she continued on, playing fire marshal.
Grandma joined the mob, and gestured at a chair by the table. “Yes, sit down and shut up!”
“But Grandma, aren’t you afraid of burning up?”
“No, we’re right by the door. So just sit down. If things start getting smoky, we can leave,” she nonchalantly remarked, while sipping her green beer.
The fire department rolled in with sirens blaring, and within minutes was able to suppress the conflagration. They had saved Saint Paddy’s Day for all the revelers at Murphy’s Bar, who really didn’t give a shit. They were much more concerned with their green beer than any fire at some laundromat somewhere.
And that’s how my wife survived the infamous and quickly forgotten, Saint Paddy’s Day Fire. And yet another day of barhopping with my grandma.
This is the latest installation of my eight-part series, The Queen of the Silver Dollar. Come on back in a few days for the next installation, entitled, Chapter 5: Fingerhut and High Finance. Click here to read the last installation. Click here to start at the beginning.
Categories: Family, Series (Family): The Queen of the Silver Dollar
Chasing Unicorns 
St Paddy’s Day is one of my favorite days; but it’s been a few years since I’ve had a green beer. A donut shop would be the perfect place to begin, and end, St Paddy’s Day. That’s kind of scary though about the people at eh bar not leaving despite the fire. And I’ve never heard of a water bra…
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I agree with you about donut shops. On St. Paddy’s Day, maybe you can buy donuts with green frosting.
Yes, it is kind of scary. But maybe it explains the occasional news story, where a bunch of people in a bar or night club are killed by a fire. They don’t heed the warnings and get out, because they don’t want to stop drinking.
A water bra is sort of an alternative to silicone-injected boobs. Instead of injecting the boobs, to make them bigger, they inject the bra.
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might as go all in on St. Paddy’s day with the green theme.
and a water bra seems much cheaper and safer than the alternative…
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I find myself wondering why your wife would tolerate all of this. She must have had her fill tolerating your puns and corny jokes by then.
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I suspect you’re right, the bars were a refuge from all the corn at home. But my wife liked my grandmother, also, so she was willing to go ahead and take her to the bars and tolerate it. A lot of times, she’d go shopping and run other errands, while my grandma sat at the bar. I think women call this, “multitasking.”
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“Multitasking” has been known to get a lot accomplished!
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I love multitasking. It frees me up from having to do a lot of chores, after my wife takes care of them.
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“Haha!” That’s not the point of multitasking, smart aleck!
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Men teach women how to have great amounts of patience! 🙂
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What do women teach men?
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Sometimes they teach that women will put up with a lot more than us men would.
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Depends on what we’re talking about.
A man will pay for and live in a house in which he has no say about the décor, furniture, usage, etc. of any room.
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Oh , but wait! A lot of times men don’t really care about the decor and furniture. I remember repainting the rooms of our house and asking my husband wbat colors he liked. He didn’t care, as long as I didn’t paint the walls pink!
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That’s true. Women like to take over a man’s house, rip down all of his carefully planned interior decorations, and then put up frilly, lacy stuff all over the place, and expect the man to pay for it.
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Rolling my eyes! We like to add character to the house!
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Well the problem with that is, character can be expensive.
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I like Tippy’s answer!
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Well, what I meant to say is that women often behave like welcome mats, and let people walk all over them. But men are less likely to tolerate that. Except, as Jason pointed out, when it comes to running a house.
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Ummm…let me think. Just give me a minute. 🙂
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Each thing that comes to my mind will probably get me in trouble if I say it!
I think saying that we teach men a lot, pretty much covers it. 🙂
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Okay I have one that should be safe to say. We try our hardest to teach men to be more observant! We do our hair, our nails, wear a new dress, etc. but……we end up counting how much time passes before they notice!
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That’s a catch-22. Men live in fear of saying the wrong thing about hair and make-up and that sort of thing. We find it best to try to avoid the subject.
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Hmmm…I can see that a little but I fully believe that if I was to come home with a buzz cut that my husband wouldn’t worry about saying the wrong thing, I am sure he would let me know what he thought. LOL!
And to prove my point. My daughter noticed my hair as soon as she came in the door. Was the first words she said. My son talked to me in the kitchen for longer, didn’t notice a thing. 🙂
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Did your son notice what was for dinner?
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Haha! Thats different!
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And talking about being observant, I think you missed seeing my post on Saturday. You must not have heard Betsy’s bell! LOL!
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Saturday I was gone just about all day.
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Understand! Just thought it fit well into the subject. 🙂
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What was the subject again?
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You better duck after I finish laughing, smart aleck!
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We don’t notice because we’re too busy “observing” all the money flying out of the checking account.
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😛
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I could easily spend several hours in the library, like your wife .
I never was into beer and green beer definitely doesn’t tempt me! I will take the donuts, cream filled please!
Your wife does have infinite patience! ( no wonder she can put up with you!) Glad no one was injured in the fire.
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I like it when women go to libraries, as they’re required to be quiet in those establishments.
I’ll take donuts over beer, too. Any day.
I don’t think my wife’s patience is infinite, but over the years, I’ve learned how to make it last a long time.
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Being quiet is not hard when one is looking for a book or reading it! So like I said, a man is good at teaching a woman how to have a lot of patience. 🙂
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Hmm, maybe every man should enroll his wife in a book-of-the-month club. Books make women quiet and patient.
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Brad could enroll me in that, I wouldn’t complain! 😛 As long as they wwre books that I liked.
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But for it to be worth it to him, they’d have to be real long books.
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I am a fast reader smartie!
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Then he could make it more challenging and turn the book upside-down when you’re not watching.
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Oooh….yeah, that would make it soo much more challenging, you dummkopf! 😛
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Schtupid.
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