Reflections on Ireland, Part II
“Ian the Foeking Postman”
In our April 2009 trip to Ireland, we really wanted to meet some "real" Irish people. This is different from the normal American experience of going to Orlando to a fake version of another country, populated by foreigners who have been living here since 1975, or Americans sporting a really bad accent in whatever country they are pretending to be from. We thought we would stretch our horizons a bit and actually meet a REAL foreigner.
Since we were in another country, we figured it was the least that we could do.
For those of you who have never seen a foreigner before, you are in for a treat. They are actual people like us, except that they talk funny. The useful ones speak English, whether they want to or not. The less useful ones have a different word for everything, which is really annoying.
I noticed that some of them have stolen many of our pure American words. The French are really bad at this. It seems to me that they have adopted all of our words related to food, such as cuisine, restaurant, gourmet, canapes, croissant, and so many more. It's okay if they want to use them, but they ought to ask permission first, right?
Even the British (who claim to have invented the language. I will check into that, but it seems unlikely at best. Have you heard Mick Jagger sing? He sounds like the illegitimate love child of Gomer Pyle and Ellie-Mae Clampett) have messed up our American English. Their accent isn't bad, especially coming from C3PO or that Dyson guy with the vacuum cleaner, but that talking lizard on the GEIKO commercials has GOT to be squashed, and I'm not kidding. Step on him if you get the chance. His accent sounds like the worst part of a London slum. I hope all lizards don't talk that way. If they do I am totally staying away from the desert.
So if you see a foreigner, be nice to them even if they don't understand the glory of America, such as the fact that we are so rich that even our poor people weight 400 pounds and can afford $12 for a pack of cigarettes after buying $50 in lottery tickets. Europeans are also jealous of our amazing cars, with their incredible quality and gas mileage. Who wouldn't be? So give them a break and don't say anything bad about their queen or viceroy or whatever, when they're listening.
But getting back to Ireland, there are a few moments that stand out. As usual, the good moments and experiences far outweigh the bad one(s). There was really only one less than wonderful person in the whole week, but it is the most memorable, so I will start with that one and get it out of the way.
Staying in Galway - a great city on the west coast - one night Susan and I went to the pub inside the hotel, and were minding our own business when the a postman staggered over and dropped unsteadily onto the bench with us, uninvited.
I don't remember his name, but let's say it was "Ian" for the sake of the story.
There are many stages of inebriation. It starts with just slightly buzzed, where you feel really good and the world is a wonderful place. You are still OK to do brain surgery or fly a 747, but you shouldn't because of all the lawyers.
Then there is tipsy, where you are just a little too happy for your own good, and you should avoid skateboards, playing cards for money, or arguing with the one you love. This is the time to avoid using chainsaws, or even carving the Thanksgiving turkey with an electric knife.
There are several levels of greater and greater intoxication, most of them involving the authorities, hospitalization, or a 36 year career in the Senate.
And then finally there is stupor followed quickly by passing out cold.
In my naivete I believed that you could not get any drunker than when fell to the ground like a bag of apples, with your eyes rolling around inside your head.
I have never been foolish enough to let this happen to me, but I have a really good imagination.
But Ian the postman had passed that point and was somehow still able to breathe in and out, and even walk a few steps at a time. It was really quite remarkable, and I think that - being in Ireland and all - we should have called the Guinness World Record folks and had them take his blood alcohol level. I am really SURE that it was a world record.
Ian was a real expert at using the word FOEK. He pronounced it that way, so I am going to spell it that way, because the other way of spelling it seems really rude, and I don't want to upset anyone.
A typical sentence as you or I might say it could be like this (remember that he's a mailman):
"I told him (the resident) that I didn't care about his missing letter"
Whereas Ian would lean in really close and say it this way, VERY LOUDLY:
"I foeking told the foeker that I foeking don't foeking give a foek about his foeking letter, the foeker!"
A few hours from here in Dublin, some of the greatest writers of prose and poetry the world has ever known have lived and breathed, creating their world-shaking works. James Joyce, Yeats, George Bernard Shaw, Beckett, Oscar Wilde, and more. And yet somehow the sheer verbal poetry of this humble postman was the most striking of all.
I could only imagine how the relatively urbane prose of Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man could be improved by interjecting the word "FOEK" about every third word? Why, it would elevate the novel to a whole new level.
And wouldn't the razor sharp wit of Wilde be improved by dropping the "Foek Bomb" in at random?
Just imagine this Yeats poem, before and after the postman treatment:
"Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!”
AFTER:
“Come you foeking Fairies, foeking take me the foek out of this foeking dull world, for I would foeking ride with you upon the foeking wind and foeking dance upon the foeking mountains like a flame, you foekers!!”
Now I ask you, which one would YOU rather read?
Finally our postman wandered off, having graced us with his erudite charm long enough. The amazing thing was that we saw him for breakfast the next morning, and he did not recognize us at all. It was like he had never seen us before. We were also surprised to see someone pour whiskey and Guinness together into a bowl of Cheerios, because we didn't know that it was either possible or legal, but I guess it's OK, if that's how you like to eat them.
So as I said at the beginning, if you can meet a foreigner, it really is a treat, and I highly recommend it.
Remember: to them, YOU are the foreigner, so practice some uniquely American words such as "Obama", "Happy Meal", or perhaps even "Gesundheit" (watch out - I think the Germans stole that one, too) -- and be the envy of the world!
(c) 2009 grant maloy smith