I know that look.
What, I demand.‚ What, Bullet?‚ What?‚ Spit it out.‚ I won’t bite you.
Bullet shuffles his feet and looks down at the floor.‚ I got a job.
You got a job?‚ Great!
Bullet adds nothing so we both stand there for many silent minutes as I grimace questions at him.‚ He frowns back at me till I can stand it no more.
What’s the job?
Bullet looks past my shoulder towards the door.‚ He’s very fit and he could probably jump over me if he tried, but this is a worrying sign.‚ My eyes get squinty and my fingers twitch.
What’s the fuckin job, Bullet?
He mutters something that sounds like Gnnoglpphhh.
What the fuck is Gnnoglpphhh?
Gnnoglpphhh open, Bullet mumbles.‚ A dare.
You’ve lost me, Bullet.‚ You’re doing a job for a dare?
Bullet looks defeated.‚ I got a job at the Irishopen, in Adare.
I feel like Michael Corleone.
Golf? I say.‚ Golf???‚ Fuckin golf??‚ How could you do this to me, Fredo – I mean Bullet?
Anyone who’s been visiting here for a while will know how I feel about golf.‚ I think golf is the anti-sport.‚ I think God invented lightning specially for golfers.‚ I have organised marches on the homes of known golfers in my neighbourhood.‚ Get out of our town.
Golf is the most pointless bullshit activity ever conceived of and it’s full of gobshites with very, very bad dress sense.‚ Who the fuck wears one glove?‚ Who goes around in bile-green plus-fours?‚ Who gives a fuck if your little fuckin knobbly ball goes into the fuckin lake?
Golf is a game for people who want to become old and I fuckin hate it. I’ve always hated it and now here’s my beloved son, Bullet, telling me he has a job at the.‚ But then, I begin to spot an angle.
Bullet, I say, placing a fatherly arm around his shoulder.‚ This job would perhaps involve serving food and drink?
To famous golfers?
He nods again.
Bullet, I say, you have my blessing to do this thing, but maybe you would do your aged parent one small favour. Out of respect.
Bullet shrugs, Sure.‚ Why not?
I hand him a small vial marked only with a skull and crossbones.
Take this, I intone, and use it wisely.
Bullet secretes the vial inside his jacket and nods silently.‚ He understands.
This will be his first real job.