Tonight, it made a little more sense to me. I refer to that old sign that denied work to immigrants from the Emerald Isle.
I got in his face. He is several inches taller and probably 50 pounds heavier. He’s spent his life supervising others. But I called him a "fucker" and several other names that I can’t recall because my blood is still boiling. He said "If you ever do that again" and I cut him off and said "I just did!" – daring him to take the next step. And then the Director showed up, separated us, and probably saved my job, because it was going downhill quick.
It was incredibly stupid. All I had to do was take his sleights and his condescending, superior attitude. All I had to do was suck it up. But the Kelly and the Donovan blood wouldn’t let me.
We were then, and many of us to this day, remain serfs. We understand that we are serfs. Just let us have our daily bread, a place to sleep, and a little whiskey to make it all go away.
15 years in the job. A mortgage and a family to support – and I would have pissed it all away just to make his face a little flatter.
A hundred years ago, the bosses and foremen needed immigrants who were serfs, and could spend a lifetime being reminded that they were serfs. These bastards knew the Irish were hard workers, but if they were reminded them too many times of their lowly status, the God damn Paddies would come back to hurt you.