24 Hour Short Story Contest Entry "Top of the Morning"

“Tis bin a bit of a tough trans... transition, yaknow? I’m just… feeling just a little low. I taught tis was the land of opportunity? I knew it wouldn’t all be craic, but it feels like God might be layin’ boots, yaknow?”

This was not how I had imagined my quiet start to the Sunday morning shift to be going.

“Listen, sir. I’m very sorry you’re having trouble but it is 11am. Tommy should have never served you any Guinness. It’s not really part of the breakfast menu…” I replied as politely as possible. This wasn’t the normal crowd I was used to serving.

“WHATTYAMEAN? GUINNESS IS A BREAKFAST STAPLE!” The little man yelled. A piece of spittle flew out of his mouth, did a perfect arc and landed on my pink apron.

“I understand sir, but I’m afraid I’m unable to serve you anymore. As far as Tommy has told me, you came in inebriated to start. This really goes against everything we learned in Serving It Right. This… this is probably illegal. Maybe I should call my manager.”

“Oh, my dear sweet angel, no. No, you don’t need ta be goin’ and doin’ and ting like tat.”

He grabbed my hand and fell into a kneeling position. He almost pulled me on top of him, considering he was so little.

I had to laugh. In a I don’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of way. If I cared just a little bit less about my job I would let him stay through the lunch rush just for entertainment purposes. What the heck was Tommy thinking?

“Ahhh, to the jacks I go.”

He hoisted himself up, once again almost toppling me over in the process. He seemed to weigh a lot for a little person.

“Excuse me?” I didn’t know what the jacks meant but I really hoped it was synonymous for home.

“Oh dontcha worry your pretty little head about it, I’ll be gone but a moment.” He mumbled as he headed for the men’s washroom.

As soon as the door was shut I turned to the bar to see Tommy looking very concerned, cleaning an already clean glass.

“Tommy!”

“I don’t know what happened here, Liz! One moment I was telling him that I couldn’t serve him any alcohol at this time in the morning, the next he grabbed my shirt collar and looked me straight in the eye. All of a sudden I was pouring him a Guinness and he was handing me this super weird coin! I must’ve served him four or five before you got here, I couldn’t stop myself. I’m real sorry. Please don’t tell Mr. Chapman. You know I need this job.”

“I won’t, but you owe me. This is friggen weird though, hey? Like, he has to be only 3 feet tall! I guess he won’t be hard to make leave. That’s going to be your job though.” I lean over the counter and point at him. “He spat on me, Tommy.”

“I’ll try to get him out of here, but I also tried not to give him any beer.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I honestly don’t get it.”

“Do you think he works at the Celtic bar, or…”

The door to the men’s crashed open. And the tiny Irishman stumbled out.

“My friends!”

“Sir, I’m afraid we are going to have to ask you to leave.” Tommy rumbled in a voice that was way deeper than normal. I guess it was his attempt at being authoritative.

“I’ll go, but only if the lass walks me home. I live but a short jaunt away.” He raised his bushy red eyebrows and smiled.

“I don’t think so, sir. There is a lunch rush coming up.”

“T’bad, I guess I’ll just head meself on back ta my table here, and order another drink, please, good Tom.”

Tommy flipped the glass he had been cleaning so diligently and began to pour another beer.

“OKAY! Okay, I’ll go with you. Jesus, Tommy! Stop pouring beer!”

The tiny man grabbed my hand and started pulling me out the door. I took off my pink apron with just enough time to toss it in Tommy’s direction as we were heading out the door.

“Listen, little drunk man, no funny business. I’m walking you for no more than 15 minutes and then I’m going back to work. Got it?”

“We are goin’ ta stop by my humble abode to start but ten we will be headed on a wee adventure, you and I.”

“What the hell? No!” I tried to pull my hand out of his but he was surprisingly strong.

“You see, I’ve lost ma pot of gold and I need some help retrievin’ it. And yer the perfect sidekick!”

“I don’t know what kind of drugs you are on, or what kind of messed up childhood you had to endure in order to believe that you’re some kind of leprechaun, but I really can’t encourage this any further. I’m calling the police, and that’s that.”

“Oh, tat’s tat is it?” He smirked and grabbed my other hand. Suddenly we were spinning around. I lost track of our surroundings. We started going faster and faster. At one point I thought for sure I was going to barf on his ginger head, which would have only been fitting after he spat on me.

Maybe I passed out. When I came to I was pretty sure I was underground because the ceiling had roots hanging from it. I was also surrounded by roughly a billion pairs of shoes.

“Welcome to ma humble home!” Cried my tiny captor.

It was at this point that I was pretty sure Tommy was going to be on his own during the lunch rush.

image source.

Oh man, what a silly little piece of writing. I used every Irish stereotype I know of. I read the leprechaun lines out loud in a really terrible Irish accent to try to mimic it in the writing. Finally, I used a website for Irish slang and a website about leprechauns. Clearly if you were expecting a more serious piece of writing like my last story, this is not it! Hah!

This was written in response to the @mctiller Twenty-four hour short story contest for March 13--Topic 8--A Leprechaun can't find the gold at the end of the rainbow. These are super fun! Though I had no real idea where I was going with this one (unlike last week) I still enjoyed writing it! Thanks!