Pub

Published: Evening Herald, July 2007

Zumo Juice Bar

“Barkeep. Hit me with a Blueberry Burst – and don’t spare the blueberry!”

“Three ninty-five, please.”

I throw the Chinese guy ten euros.

“Have one yourself,” I say.

He seems to ignore me.

“Six euros, five cent,” he says, handing me my change.

“You won’t join me in one? No?”

He shakes his head.

It’s Saturday lunchtime and the shopping centre is heaving with customers. Truth be told, it’s not my scene. After gazing blankly at a few jumpers (as per my instructions) I bail out.

It’s juice time.

“Tell me Hu,” I begin, reading his name off his badge. “Do you have any women in your life?”

His response is one of blank incomprehension.

“You must have, I suppose… How do you put up with them at all?”

Hu certainly has the look of a man harassed.

“Next customer please,” he says.

I turn around. There’s no one there.

“Move away from the till, sir!” he says firmly.

Retreating to a table, I introduce myself to a German couple called Gunther and Edith.

“Have ye ever seen that America’s Got Talent?” I ask.

They haven’t.

“They’ve got this rapping Granny on. She’s about a hundred and ten. When she raps the audience shout ‘Go Granny! Go Granny…!’”

“It’s brilliant, brilliant television.”

Gunther looks a little bit uncomfortable.

“We must leave now,” he says.

“You won’t stay for a Jungle Rumble, no? What about you Edith? Tropical Twist, on me?”

Just then a familiar voice accosts me.

“There you are you eejit… I’m getting my hair done at three and I need to you to pick up the cake from the cake shop. Tell me you bought a jumper! For the love of God, please tell me you got a jumper!”

‘‘Of all the juice bars in all the world,” I mutter, “She has to walk into this one…’