At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Monday, January 25, 2010


Yesterday evening I had a drink or two at a local watering hole.
I really should have had a drink or two before I even went there.........

Two of the regular customers were loudly upset that a third regular customer had used the word 'bitch' in oblique reference to one of them who had interrupted his conversation with a fourth regular customer.....
Additionally, they were disgruntled with a fifth regular customer who had tried to explain the context.


I will assume that the up-with-broken girlfriend is, in fact, also a regular customer. Who may or may not be a bitch in some ways. But probably not a dog. Given that a large number of the regular customers at that bar are more than passing superficial.

Some regular customers are also serious alcoholics, as was quite evident yesterday evening.
Not only all of the people involved in the bitch issue, also many others. The staff from a restaurant around the corner come in regularly after work to drink themselves blotto, as well as waiters and bartenders from several other places. There are also the artistic types - they're always drunk.
Plus fans of the Phillies, the Eagles, and other has-been sports teams or rock groups.

Being a very moderate drinker, I only go there for the drama.

I had intended to leave after only one drink - but the natives were so lively that I had five more.


The evening ended for me when a wasted Mediterranean type, having lost the attention of the drunkards to his left, turned around and tried to engage me in conversation.

I answered him in Dutch, as a subtle hint that whatever he wished to discuss might not interest me. After ten minutes of talking back at him in Dutch it finally dawned on him that I was speaking some unintelligible foreign language. Much to my surprise he pegged it as Ivrit - I never thought any of the customers had even heard of Ivrit.
He then postulated loudly that I was from Jerusalem, which was obvious! This got the attention of several of the drunken bitch customers, who agreed that I was speaking Ivrit. QED.
Except for one who identified it as French.

According to the very drunken Mediterranean person, I should've just come clean and admitted being a Jew instead of so deviously hiding it by speaking Ivrit.
He slurred this very sincerely several times.
I responded, again in Dutch, that he was an intoxicated fruitloop who needed to make an appointment at a dry-out clinic as soon as possible.
Telling him so was also a Jewish thing to do. As it turns out.
Extrrrrremely Jewish.

The point of no conversational return had been reached.

Maintaining the mask of being densely foreign, when I left I cheerily told the bartender in Dutch that I'd see him next Sunday. In as heavy an accent as he could muster, he wished me a "mazel-tov skoal heineken" in return.

Somebody with a Mediterranean accent slurred 'shalom' as the door closed.


  • At 11:39 AM, Blogger Tzipporah said…


  • At 8:06 AM, Anonymous Ari said…

    Maybe it's all those phlegmy, gutural "ch" sounds?

    Best to ignore, in any case. I love my fellow americans -- few other countries support Israel as strongly -- but they can't tell Sikh from Muslim and can't find baghdad on a map.


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