It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 45: Chapter II

Coarse, Offensive, and Xenophobic Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

'God above, protect us!' exclaimed Mrs. Fitzgerald, falling out of her seat as the front door ricocheted off the wall. BB's head fell from his hands and smacked down on the bar top, while Alan and Ed ducked for cover; and Colin slept on as his daughter came into the light.

'FUCK!' yelled O'Toole, and he meant what he screamed. 'FUUUUCK! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!'

Niamh looked his way, her face flashing with a mixture of annoyance and ignorance at the sight of the florid man. 'Huh?' she said with the same tenor as her son liked to use whenever caught in a transgression.

'What's wrong with you?! It's a fuckin' door! A door! It has a handle. You take the handle, you twist the handle, then you push—GENTLY PUSH!—the door open!'

'That's what I did.'

'No. No—NO! You don't enter. You've never just entered! You blast your way in like a fuckin' cannon ball—you've no respect! NONE! My door—look at my fuckin' door!—do you know how much it's cost me to repair it because of you—look. Look! LOOK, GODDAMN YOU, LOOK!' He waved a wet rag towards the door, indicating the thick plates bolted into the hinges. 'You see that?! Steel reinforcement! I had to reinforce the fuckin' thing because you...you...NO GODDAMN RESPECT! CHRIST, I'M SO SICK OF IT! NONE OF YOU HAVE AN OUNCE OF—A FUCKIN' SHRED OF—COMMON FUCKIN' DECENCY!' And that was when O'Toole's ire fell upon the rest of the occupants of his meager saloon, and before he could stop himself, a long repressed diatribe broke its dam and tumbled down over the shocked onlookers. 'THIS ISN'T A GODDAMN WEIGH STATION! YOU PEOPLE—YOU FUCKIN' PEOPLE!—WALTZ IN HERE LIKE YOU'RE FUCKIN' ROYALTY, LIKE YOU'RE STRAIGHT OUTTA VERSAILLES OR SOME SHIT—AND YOU PISS! AND YOU PUKE! AND YOU SLEEP—WAKE THE FUCK UP!' O'Toole roared into Colin's ear, and the old Malone jerked away.

'Huh?! What's wrong with ch'ya?!'

'What's wrong with me—WITH ME?! THIS IS A BAR! B-A-FUCKIN'-R! IT'S MADE OF WOOD! SEE?! WOOD! FROM A FUCKIN' TREE! IT'S NOT A BED! NOT A FUCKIN' PILLOW! YOU WANNA SLEEP?! THEN FUCK OFF HOME!! JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY! YOU FUCKIN' PEOPLE! YOU DON'T CARE! YOU DON'T RESPECT! YOU COME IN HERE, AND YOU SNAP YOUR FAT, FRIGGIN' FINGERS, AND YOU DEMAND! AND DEMAND! AND DEMAND! NO 'PLEASES'! NO FUCKIN' 'THANK YOUS!' JUST SNAP, SNAP, SNAPPIN' YOUR FINGERS. 'DO THIS FOR ME, O'TOOLE!' 'DO THAT FOR ME, O'TOOLE!' 'GET THIS FOR—' I AIN'T YOUR FUCKIN' SLAVE! I AIN'T HERE TO WIPE YOUR ASSES! I AIN'T HERE TO TUCK YOU IN AT NIGHT! THIS IS MY BUSINESS—MY HOME!! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH GOES INTO RUNNIN' THI—DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH FUCKIN' TIME I'VE SPENT—I'VE WASTED!! I COULD'VE...I could've...Christ, what I could have done...BUT YOU DON'T CARE! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'VE GIVEN UP FOR YOU!! ANIMALS!! EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU—FUCKIN' ANIMALS! YOU'RE ANIMAL! YOU'RE AN ANIMAL! YOU, AND YOU—YOU! BLASTIN' MY DOORS LIKE A GODDAMN HEIFER IN A CHINAMAN'S SHOP! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! AM I A JOKE TO YOU?! IS THAT IT?! HUH?! AM I...AM...am...FUUUUUUUUCK!' And out of a seething frustration, he balled the wet rag in his hand and slammed it with all of his might on the bar.

The room was silent. No one dared breath in front of the perilous man, no more sure than his customers of what had finally come loose in him. A red glow ebbed its way across his cheeks, and his body began to shake.

'Right,' he said in a more measured tone. 'Yes. Um...' he reached up and tugged at his collar. 'Yes. Yes. Um...I think...right. Well. Yes. I'm—I'm just gonna take...yes!'

'Ya do that,' said BB, forcing a nervous smile. 'Ya take all the time ya need, O'Toole.'

O'Toole cleared his throat and moved around the bar, clutching to the varnished wood for support.