It's the holidays

"Hey cut me some slack. It's the holidays."

I heard that little plea for "mercy and charity" in South Boston yesterday. A unique choice of wording, but then, it was in front of the Boston Beer Works emporium, not exactly the place one goes to hear performances of Robert Frost -- that is Robert Frost, the poet, not to be confused with the more famous near name sharer who put on a hat and "came to life one day".

The two gentlemen were debating a certain space on the road. One thought it fit his car rather well, the other thought his lawn chair -- at that moment in the spot -- looked just fine and dandy there, thank you, and wanted to keep it there, at least until the "Mrs." returned from the local Stop and Shop with the last minute goodies.

Readers, I am sure you get the drift -- they were fighting over a parking space.

Mind you, these pugilists fighting over 8 feet of tarmac were in my way; just in front of me was the chair, blocking my access to the thoroughfare was the Buick. My geographic expert readers will be able to plot with all the precision of a Garmon that I was, in fact, parked behind them and trying to get out.

"Fellas," I exhaled throught the window, "you think..."

"Hey, cut me some slack, it's the holidays". was the return. I was humbled and cut off.

So much for being nice. Here we provide a transcipt of the further dialog for the readers' edification in the interests of brevity.

Al: "You! Yeah you, you c--k sucking mo--er f--king sons of Bi--ches. Move your m----- f------ sh-t out of my way or I'll get out of this f------ car and kick your f------ Irish asses back to Cork!

Man1 "Oh. sorry, did you want to get out?"

Al. "What the f--- do you think, you f------ ass li--ker?

Man2 "Oh hold it, let me move the car back. I need your spot, anyway, thanks.

And so it all goes, peace for the holidays.

And a great lesson. One really needs to speak the language when traveling in foreign climes, especially if the clime is "Southie".