The Flowing Tide pub on Abbey Street, morning of Sunday April 19th, 2008.
A dilapidated, atypical Dublin pub partially hijacked by plastic paddy modernity. The pub’s associations with the Abbey Theatre across the street cover the walls. The old snugs and cubbyholes should really be replaced by a more expansive bar to accommodate the increase of drinkers since the economic boom. Stained glass windows of scenes from Irish folklore and a collection of old theatrical posters and pictures signed by famous actors puncture the walls. An obnoxiously large battered picture of the Bleeding Heart of Jesus, one side of its frame missing, lounges above the right of the bar, to the left of the staircase, spiraling up to the living quarters. His face gapes out at His audience through cracked glass.
Amidst this ensemble, pockets of collaged photographs of Polish religious kitsch rests imprisoned behind cheap plastic frames, everywhere. Photos of the Marian shrine at the Lichen basilica, especially the Golgotha with its flagellation of Christ, the grotto to the unborn child and the footprints of Mary, hang around the toilet down stage to the right. Indigenous music plays in the background from a dying speaker above the toilet door. Down stage to the left is the main entrance to the pub, one of its panes of glass cracked.
KRYSTIAN WICHOWSKI, an overweight, almost balding man with a gold cross hanging outside his open, habitual white shirt types on his very cheap laptop behind the bar.
BRIAN MURPHY, a handsome, dark looking man, comes in and sits on a barstool at the bar.
BRIAN
Sorry, was there a tall black man in here recently?
KRYSTIAN
(looking up from his computer)
No.
BRIAN
That’s weird. I was supposed to meet him in here half an hour ago.
KRYSTIAN
Do you want a drink?
BRIAN
I’d love a Guinness.
KRYSTIAN pours him a pint.
BRIAN
Ah, wait a second. My friend was supposed to be buying that and I left my wallet in the hotel.
KRYSTIAN
That’s a OK. You pay me later.
BRIAN
Thanks.
KRYSTIAN types. BRIAN scrutinizes the pub, especially the religious photos on the walls, his pint settling.
BRIAN
(pointing to the cracked Jesus)
What happened to Him?
KRYSTIAN
(Looking up at Jesus)
My wife. She’s not a very religious woman.
(shaking his head)
She threw a whiskey glass at it.
BRIAN
Ah…
KRYSTIAN
(returning to his screen)
This Google, it never works.
BRIAN
What you looking for?
KRYSTIAN
(typing)
A barman.
KRYSTIAN steps over to the taps and pulls the rest of the Guinness.
KRYSTIAN
(giving him his pint)
You work near here?
BRIAN
No. I just got off the plane from Stansted. I used to manage a bar in Camden Town.
KRYSTIAN
Where is this Camden Town?
BRIAN
North London.
KRYSTIAN
What age are you?
BRIAN
Thirty-three. Why?
KRYSTIAN
You are finished in Camden Town then?
BRIAN
Yeah, I’m just passing through, on my way to Limerick. My mother was born there. Told her I’d see it one day.
KRYSTIAN
So, you are not looking for a job?
BRIAN
No. Like I said, I’m just passing through. No hard feelings though. This looks like a great place. Right across from the Abbey too. You must get a lot of playwrights and actors in here?
KRYSTIAN
Yes. It is good to have so many different people. I like to meet people from different countries. In my village in Poland, Lichen, there are many people from every country coming because of the Basilica.
(points at the photos)
It was a small village when I was a boy. Now it is very busy. Like Dublin since all the money came. New buildings all the time.
BRIAN
(looking around, none too enthused)
Yeah, you must have a lot of fun in here alright. I used to have an actress girlfriend in London. She was crazy, but a lot of fun.
KRYSTIAN
Yes. It is fun. I love the night. I am not a morning person.
(closing his laptop)
So, you’re not looking for a job?
BRIAN
Like I said, I’m only in Dublin for a few days.
KRYSTIAN
I cannot understand why no barman stays. They tell me the customers are not nice and that it is too busy. I don’t understand. Don’t they want to make money?
(putting his computer into a laptop bag)
Did you do long hours in London?
BRIAN
Thirteen-hour days three days a week and eight hour shifts three other days.
KRYSTIAN
You sure you will not like to work here?
BRIAN
It’s nice of you to ask, but I won’t be staying in…
MARY WICHOWSKI walks in and stares through BRIAN. She has that lazy Dubliner unease that makes her very close fitting white dress with its bulging chest, long, carefully cared for fake tanned legs and carefully coiffed blonde hair lunge all the more provocatively into the room.
MARY
(to KRYSTIAN)
The beer delivery’s here. I’m off to my audition now.
KRYSTIAN
Please be careful with the car this time, Mary. Those last repairs were so expensive.
Rolling her eyes and ignoring him she slides behind the bar and pours herself a Jameson, knocks it back and leaves. BRIAN‘s head follows her swaying body offstage.
KRYSTIAN
That’s my wife, Mary.
BRIAN
(still watching her leave)
Really…
Blackout.