The following is a work of satire. All the people in this article are the creation of the author’s imagination.
Tim Walters, a new manager at Santa Fe Mexican Grill, ideally thought that he would have an easy weekend for St. Patrick’s Day, considering his restaurant did not exactly fit the theme of the holiday.
“For once I thought I wasn’t going to have to deal with the usual drunken behavior,” Walters says. “Margaritas spilling, quesadillas dropping, people diving behind the bar to search for more chips for their queso. You know, just your average Friday night.”
Walters did not have the day off that he was anticipating. Hordes of people occupied the entire restaurant, decked out in extremely original ‘Kiss Me I’m Irish’ necklaces and shamrock hats.
“I just don’t get it,” Walters says as he begins to sweep the remains of a shattered margarita glass. “It was Catherine Rooney’s turn. They never have a big crowd except on Thursdays — it was their turn!”
Management did not inform Walters that St. Paddy’s Day is a holiday that students celebrate anywhere they please.
Conor ‘Sperry-Shoes’ Lally was very adamant in his defense of celebrating this holiday in a non-traditional way.
“It’s a free country, and Rooney’s was packed,” Sperry Shoes, who claims he is five percent Irish, says. “And Santa Fe has French fries so I can still have potatoes.”
Walters fights back tears as he cleans up around Sperry Shoes’ table, thinking about the plans that he had to cancel to instead tend to an ethnically-confused frat boy.
“I thought I saw a leprechaun when I began the festivities at eight this morning,” Sperry Shoes says. “But it turned out to be a ginger kid on a campus tour.”
Walters tries not to flinch as two girls order a sugar-rimmed margarita as the Guinness bottles that they also sell ironically go untouched.
Walters spends the rest of his shift trying to dim the lights just enough that people walking down the street will think that Santa Fe is closed.
Sperry Shoes, in his green Celtics jersey that he borrowed from one of his brothers because there would never be another occasion to wear it, stays until last call.
“I think it’s rather beautiful that we can celebrate this day anywhere,” he says. “It doesn’t matter if it’s not at an Irish pub. The spirit remains the same.”
The attempted thought-provoking comment does not reach Walters, who hurriedly kicks out Sperry Shoes and his friends so he can get to his car. On his way down the street, he spots a sole bartender emerging from Rooney’s, the tips he acquired not enough to compensate for the stuff he had seen that day.
“Welcome,” the unidentified bartender says as he claps Walters on the back.