Per’aps I shou’n’t be telling this story but the facts are the facts and these are those.
‘Twas a time I worked in Ireland quite a bit, traveling as I did from the States frequently, availing myself of the various accommodations to enjoy the local scenery, culinary delights and drinking opportunities.
So it was one trip, per suggestion from an Irish coworker name of John Casey (whose infamy as a pirated radio celebrity is a legend unto itself), I chose the Old Ground Inn .
Today, I sit in the Poets Corner whilst families in the pub enjoy a bite to eat and a bit of hurling on the telling.
Meanwhile, I remember back to my first night at the Old Ground when a young Turkish maid knocked on the door at 21:00 and offered turn down service.
She was a pretty lass, no harm in noting that fact.
I was busy on the laptop computer emailing my colleagues who were still at their busiest, it being only 3 p.m. in the afternoon, expecting me to be at my best, too.
I’ve told you this story, ‘aven’t I?
No matter, I’ll tell the rest of who ‘aven’t, then.
There i was, busy typing, when she interrupted…
“Shall I turn off the lights?”
I nodded, busy updating an Excel spreadsheet.
She turned off the overhead light and flicked on the bedside lamp.
I kept typing.
“Shall I turn down the covers?”
Starting to wonder why she had to ask permission to do her job, I looked her in the eye and nodded, hoping she’d understand she needn’t ask my permission again.
Encouraged, she carefully folded back the covers without a word.
Lost in the search for contents of a spreadsheet cell out of sight, I missed the maid walking ’round to the window.
“Sir, you want that I close the curtains?”
“Sure, sure, go ‘head.” I didn’t look up, desperate to send an email afore a meeting began.
Next thing I know, she’s leaning over my shoulder, her perfume finally tickling my nose, giving me notice.
I turned the laptop and looked up atcyh3 maid.
She smiled and nodded at the wireless.
“Want me to turn on the radio?”
I smiled back, hoping she’d leave me alone a moment more whilst I double-checked the email recipient list.
She walked across the room and turned on the radio, turning the dial to music with a strong drum and bass rhythm.
I sent the email and looked at the maid.
She struck a provocative pose.
“Shall we close the door and dance?”
Having two more meetings to prepare for, I reached into my pocket, handed her a Euro, sixty and shushed her out the door.
A bit disappointed she was and our next encounter will ‘ave to wait until another time.
The hurling match’s over. Time to hit the road and head to Limerick!