Eddie Rockets

It was New Years Eve. Christmas, an excuse for endless nights out, incessant parties and countless ill-considered matches was over, and tonight would officially mark the end of a months brash spending. In the next few days, all of Dublin would return to their offices. Fraught glances across the floor would be made furtively and avoided surreptitiously. References to Decembers indiscreet frolics would be made only late on a Friday after too many drinks, and then only by colleagues probing for salacious detail. After a few weeks, all would be conveniently forgotten, at least until next Christmas presented the opportunity for more of the same.

What had started as a mild balmy December had lately discovered the bitter sharp winds and steely chilled rain that we had hoped might hold over until January, when we expected to be cold, wet and miserable. I fantasised about the possibility of staying in the convivial warmth of the house for an evening alone with some trash TV movie to ring in the New Year. Of course the phone calls would come – “We’re meeting here or there… See you at eight… But you can’t stay in on New Years night”- an effort could be made to decline the well-intended invites, but perhaps better accept the unavoidable and accede graciously than to parry what was, in any case, an inevitable outcome.

The only thing certain was that too much would be drunk. This was made palatable by the fact that it would be the last night out for quite a while. When the drinking would start and where it would end were the only uncertainties. Well… you couldn’t really plan for what might happen in between either. In preparation for the forthcoming onslaught, I thought a trip to the local Eddie Rockets fast food parlour might be prudent.

Though it was only five in the afternoon, it was pitch dark outside. Distorted orange neon reflected from street puddles that were being pelted with cold dirty rain. I buried my head in my chest to shelter from the vicious churning squall as I made my way up the hill toward Phibsboro. Overweight, flustered housewives returning from the city centre sales accounted for the tailbacks at the traffic lights. As I crossed the road to the welcoming lights of Eddie Rockets, one female driver, her chubby fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles were white, snarled at me. Happy New Year to you too lady.

There was a queue to get seats at Eddie Rockets - a new phenomenon to me. Having walked this far in these conditions though, I wasn’t turning back without being fed. I hadn’t brought a book or a newspaper to amuse me so I stood and waited.

A minibus pulled up outside the door. A guy and a girl in their mid-twenties came in and looked the place over. Seemingly satisfied with what they saw, they left again and returned escorting a party of handicapped young people with them. They found a suite of seats at the counter and sat down to order. Unworthy though it was, I wondered why I hadn’t seen those empty seats first.

A few minutes later, another seat at the bar became available and I sat down. To my right was a young couple. She was extremely pretty with a broad smile that showed a mouthful of big braces. The perfect white jacket she wore had an immense furry collar to shelter her from the inclement bluster. He was a little older. As they whispered and giggled together, the physical communication between them was fascinating – each of them was utterly spellbound by the other. To see such a young couple so completely at ease was somehow heartening to the embittered old cynic sitting beside them.

Behind the counter, the work was frantic. I ordered from a girl with beautiful sallow eastern European skin. She had a wonderful smile and was wearing one of those awful red Santa Claus hats that tend to turn up at Christmastime. Of ten people working in the service area, only one of them looked Irish. He roared at another girl. “Rox,” he spluttered jovially, “what in the name of JAYSUS is this supposed to say?” Any doubts about his nationality were quickly laid to rest. He chuckled at her as he pointed at a chit. She smiled endearingly at him and provided whatever clarification he required.

To my left was another couple, slightly younger than those to my right. They shared a plate of Nachos. His hand was on her knee, and in turn her leg was draped over his leg. They whispered to each other, though the volume of the music dispensed with the need for such care over eavesdroppers. This manifestation of youthful bliss seemed somehow an appropriate backdrop against which to bring in the New Year and the aspirations that consideration of a new year brings.

My dinner now arrived, I tucked in. The furry white collar and her boyfriend got up to leave. “Bye now. Happy New Year” she said as she gave me a carefree wave and a big beautiful smile. They walked off to queue behind an improbably young pregnant girl at the checkout to settle their bill.

An older couple, perhaps in their forties, replaced them beside me. He sat down and read his paper whilst she studiously ignored him. They ordered without consulting each other. “Can you not put the bloody paper away for five minutes,” she snapped after the waitress had left.

He pushed the paper aside with an air of resignation. I looked at the page he had left open. There was a colour picture of New York shoppers wading through the department store sales. To the forefront of the picture was a heavily armed soldier, goggles on and a very big gun at the ready. In the back of the picture you could see other heavily armed soldiers. The juxtaposition of the civilians and the soldiers made me feel sad in a way I cannot quite explain. The occasion of a new year should be about hope, not hate. The soldiers somehow threw everything into an acrid relief.

I finished up my coffee and settled the bill. The only thing certain was that it would be a new year full of uncertainty. In the meantime, there were a few celebratory drinks to be had.