Secrets Left Neglected

Chapter 53

Tadhg

A few days after the ER debacle, Caoilainn and I decide to take a stroll down City Centre. We've just had lunch and have stopped at an ice cream truck for dessert. There're two helpers behind the counter. One girl, who has blue and pink, crimp-ironed hair is running around like she has an endless supply of positive enthusiasm. In a whirlwind of cookies and ice cream cones this girl's going to bubble herself right outta the serving window.

Despite her energy, however, she's fighting a never-ending battle. The line of customers in front of her is endless.

Caoilainn and I are about three places behind the first person and there must be six more people standing in line behind us. More people join the line the longer we wait there. A kid standing to my right and behind me is arguing with his little sister. He looks to be about ten, while his sister looks around six. She keeps stomping on his untied shoelaces and he keeps telling her to back up.

I mentioned that there are two people working behind the counter, but for all the space he's taking up the girl's partner appears useless. While she's tossing wet walnuts and whipped cream on sundaes, he's busy texting someone on his phone while snapping gum between breathes. He's standing on the right side of the truck's window opening so I have a constant line of vision on him every time I look up. His prim yellow polo shirt looks like it's been meticulously ironed; probably something his mother did for him. As evidence of his idle behavior there isn't one smidgen of fudge or caramel topping anywhere on it. And while I admire the handsomeness of his Citizen watch, it looks pretentious when its being worn by a minimum wage employee who can't even bother to wait on the customers he'd paid to serve.

We've been in line for about ten minutes already and I can feel my fuse getting shorter.

Why doesn't this boy help his partner? As another couple leaves the line I can see the girl lean on the counter to catch her breath before smiling up at the family of kids in front of us. With her pad and pen in hand, she's writing down their order, making sure to add jimmies or cookies to whichever ice cream creations they want.

I look at the boy again and start to worry my impulse bracelet.

I think to myself that this kid's exactly that. He doesn't look a day younger than 18, but he's acting like a child in letting this girl do the work of two people while he stands around looking pretty. Before I can stop myself, I'm stomping forward to the window. I reach behind the counter to where the boy's resting on his elbow and in the process somehow bang my left arm on the edge of the truck's serving ledge. Caoilainn starts to holler that I've cut myself but I'm still moving forward, fumbling as I go.

The boy'd been propped up on the counter so he could scroll down his Facebook page, Twitter page or whatever damn other app he was looking at. When I close in on him I knock his arm out from under him, resulting in his collapsing and biting his tongue.

"What's your problem, man?" The boy asks me, aggravated and insulted, like I was the one in the wrong here.

"My problem is you," I answer too loudly. "This girl's running around like a chicken with her head cut off, and we've been waiting out in this hot sun forever, while you stand there with your head up your ass looking at your phone." I holler.

"You're on the job, son. Get your ass to work."

Caoilainn's by my side trying to dab my cut with a napkin and calm me down, tugging on my right hand to let things go.

I'm on a roll, though.

"What's the matter with you? What kind of man are you?" I continue. "This poor girl needs help and you don't even have the common courtesy to realize it."

Even though I know I'm right, and even though I know everyone around me wished someone would say something to this kid, the line of people is quiet as I speak. Normally, I wouldn't curse around the women and children, but my mouth has run away with itself again.

Great.

I'd been getting better at this impulse speaking thing, but sometimes, it's like I can't help myself.

I turn to look at the kids behind me and stare down at their quiet, accusatory eyes. The little girl steps forward and looks at me like she has something to say. I bend over and apologize for my bad language. At the same time, she opens her mouth to tell me I'm going to be sent to time out because I used potty words. I smile and look up at her mother. "Sorry about that, Ma'am," I say to her.

Meanwhile, Caoilainn's trying to smooth things over with the boy in the dessert truck. When I realize that he's now cursing at her, however, I turn around and lean directly up to him, grabbing him by the corners of his neatly pressed shirt.

This time, instead of cursing or yelling at him, I give him the death stare. The same one I used to receive from the drill instructors when I was in boot camp. Something must click in his wee little bairn brain because he finally relents and backs off.

No longer hungry, I almost forgo the ice cream altogether. To my surprise, however, the girl with the blue and pink hair hands Caoilainn and I a cup of ice cream each, flourished in thanks. We go to pay, but she refuses our money. Just as we turn to leave she gives us a wink goodbye. Darned if it doesn't seem like she's grateful I opened my big, fat, unfiltered mouth.

Ah well, at least this impulse behavior is good for something.