A Multicultural Kilts Night
Kilts Night started on a good note this month.
I’m about sixty feet from the bus stop when the bus, (of course), pulled up to the stop.
I don’t run for busses. I just don’t. Too many time the driver will pull away just as you get to the doors.
So, I keep heading for the stop at my usual pace when a few people run past me, trying to make it. The bus pulls out from the stop and the people moan and stop running.
Then, surprisingly, the bus pulls up to the curb where I’m walking.
The people who were running for the bus get on ahead of me, thanking the driver for stopping.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “I stopped for the guy in the kilt. Thank him!”
I look at the driver, a large Sikh man with a turban and wild, impressive beard.
“You just wanted a better look at the kilt?”
“Yes sir. I couldn’t help myself!”
We laughed and I went to find a seat.
Kilts have occasional perks.
There was some new folk at Kilts Night, who were very welcome. Some were relatives of regulars and they seemed to have a good time. Others have been trying to get to Kilts Night for a while but have never made it. It was very nice to finally see them there, (even without the flirting and the ass patting.)
The Halifax Wharfrats were in fine form and had some of the gang dancing and the rest of us stomping our feet. Things got a little drunk out as the night wore on and we stayed later than usual.
Doolin’s is an Irish pub but the people that find their way there are always an eclectic bunch.
We had some Swiss on one side, a couple of Irish guys and a Turk, (my buddy Erman), at our table, a Scot who stopped to talk kilts, and a few Aussies at a nearby table.
Of course, there are always lots of Chinese guys and gals at our table who are members of the Gung Haggis Fat Choy Dragon Boat team.
I got home around 3AM ... I think.
I’m about sixty feet from the bus stop when the bus, (of course), pulled up to the stop.
I don’t run for busses. I just don’t. Too many time the driver will pull away just as you get to the doors.
So, I keep heading for the stop at my usual pace when a few people run past me, trying to make it. The bus pulls out from the stop and the people moan and stop running.
Then, surprisingly, the bus pulls up to the curb where I’m walking.
The people who were running for the bus get on ahead of me, thanking the driver for stopping.
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “I stopped for the guy in the kilt. Thank him!”
I look at the driver, a large Sikh man with a turban and wild, impressive beard.
“You just wanted a better look at the kilt?”
“Yes sir. I couldn’t help myself!”
We laughed and I went to find a seat.
Kilts have occasional perks.
There was some new folk at Kilts Night, who were very welcome. Some were relatives of regulars and they seemed to have a good time. Others have been trying to get to Kilts Night for a while but have never made it. It was very nice to finally see them there, (even without the flirting and the ass patting.)
The Halifax Wharfrats were in fine form and had some of the gang dancing and the rest of us stomping our feet. Things got a little drunk out as the night wore on and we stayed later than usual.
Doolin’s is an Irish pub but the people that find their way there are always an eclectic bunch.
We had some Swiss on one side, a couple of Irish guys and a Turk, (my buddy Erman), at our table, a Scot who stopped to talk kilts, and a few Aussies at a nearby table.
Of course, there are always lots of Chinese guys and gals at our table who are members of the Gung Haggis Fat Choy Dragon Boat team.
I got home around 3AM ... I think.
