I headed down to the bar to drink with the half-breeds, members and castoffs from tribes as varied as Cantonese, Cherokee and Vietnamese. Corby, who looks Norwegian, but is “one eighth” asks me, “James, you smoke weed?”

“I probably should, but no. Thanks for asking. He then headed out to the Cedar Tree where they had decided to hang me if I turned out to be a problem. I then find myself with three native chicks of various stripes on the right, and a savage Irish lass on the left, who fixes me with an unapproving glare and says, “What, no green? How dare you! I get one day, one day out of three-hundred-and-sixty-five, and you come in here without green!”

“What?”

“Look around you, goof ball—is the green top hat a clue? You think everybody accidentally fell into green clothes today? Ring a bell?”

“Oh, a yeah—I don’t have anything green...not that I realized that a quarter of my misbegotten ancestors were having their international holiday.”

She charges over, red-haired and bouncy, turns my in the bar stool and pinches me behind the left shoulder.

“Good pinch!”

She says, “Even though you’re American, you could at least remember that some of us have heritage.”

I speak up, “In my defense,”

“There is no defense,” she interjects.

Hand of harlot calming is extended to the left, “In my defense, I do think that some racial memory rose up from the Mick corner in my soul and tried to warn me. This morning I awakened during a nightmare in which I got drunk and beat my wife in 1882!”

“Ah, men!” she proclaims.

A native chick to my right declares, “They’re all full of shit. You meet a guy at the bar and you reach down to see what’s there and your like, ‘Where is it?’ And he says, “I’, a grower not a shower!’”

Laughter.

“Excuses, excuses,” says the one in the green top hat. “But, once you’ve been around there are enough of the opposite occurrences to balance that out!”

The Irish lass: “I hear you sister! Those ‘oh wow’ moments can be frightening. Like accidentally signing up for surgery.”

Laughter.

Big Breasted Squaw: “Oh yeah—my, this one guy, I just said, ‘Oh honey, if you don’t stop beating that thing I’ll have to report you to the animal rights people!’”

Laughter

Green Hatted Squaw: “I know it—you’re not putting that thing in me!”

Laughter.

This lady then bedecked me with a green cloverleaf Coors Light necklace.

Quiet Squaw: “Oh My.”

Irish Lass: “Oh my God—I had my share. But this one guy, I just had to tell him, ‘Look, let me get my saw and I’ll cut a hole in the wall—because we do not have enough vacancies here!’”

Laughter and accusing glares at the gutter gnome.

The quiet Squaw: “I didn’t realize you were a teamster. That’s a nice jacket and hoody.”

“Oh, I’m not a teamster. My roommate is a teamster and he works with this body builder who got a job as a male escort and was getting rid of his work clothes. He told me, ‘I’m jealous, Pretty Boy Sean has these white women buying him cars and motorcycles—it must be nice to have washboard abs and,’ well, the rest of his grousing statement has already been covered by your friends. I am hoping for washboard abs.”

“Oh my,” she says, as Corby returns and suggests stoning the Irish lass with potatoes for playing Abba on the juke box…

I’m feeling a little bit ragged this morning after walking home at 10:30 with a 15-pack of light beer and staying up until 4:00 A.M. playing dominoes with Yeti Waters who said, “James LaFond, we should be able to get some cheap corned beef tomorrow after they mark it down at the Safeway…”

I’ll miss Portland, again.

…

Note

Noticing that the bar owners were still masked I spoke with Amy, from Canton, who Corby swears is from Japan, about the regulatory agencies who had the powers to shut her down. She flashed three fingers and then described them by their official designation: essentially Liquor Board, Health Department and Lottery Authority, “So you know, we got a be careful!”