She was completely prepared to regard the place as a run-o-the-mill pseudo-Irish place, but it simply ain't. Bite Me was certainly annoyed to pay five bones to get in the door to pay twice the normal price for shots of Irish whiskey, but since she knew she was contributing to an authentic joint, it was much less painful. Rosie McCaffrey's interior is smoky and packed to the gills with the Guinness-guzzlers, but has atmosphere aplenty. The music is as true, er, green as it comes, and the outside patio set up specifically for the weekend festivities was jumpin'.
St. Paddy's Day is always gonna bring the rookies out of the woodwork, but read on to find out what kind of coolios Bite Me found hangin' at Rosie's. A waiter with a tendency to topple drinks as he aspires to be a writer. A chick named Mitzie who endures torment from jealous freaks. An ER nurse who may well opt to treat a hemorrhage with a Guinness. And Bite Me, just drinkin' it all in. As always. In all ways. At night's end, Bite Me walked into a house full of the delightful aroma of tender corned beef slow cooked with carrots, onions, red potatoes, cabbage, cloves and spices. She settled down with a plate of Irish grub and thanked her lucky stars that she be Irish. If only for a day.
Waiter, Bahama Breeze
Bite Me: So, do you like being a waiter?
Pat: It's okay. I'd actually like to write a column for a newspaper or something. I need to find a job that will pay me to go back to school. Get my master's degree in journalism.
Bite Me: Oh, honey, please don't bother with a degree.
Pat: That's what I've been told. I already have a bachelor's in English.
Bite Me: Do you frequent this place?
Pat: I wouldn't say I frequent this place. I've been here a few times. It's a little crowded. I came from the East Coast, though, where there are a lot of Irish pubs. This is the best Irish pub I've been to in Phoenix.
Bite Me: Have you ever eaten anything here? Even if it's just salt on your tequila shot?
Pat: Yeah, I've eaten here.
Bite Me: Like, what've you eaten?
Pat: I've had their wings. They're okay. Um, once I ordered a chicken sandwich and it didn't come out the way I asked for it so I wasn't too happy with that. Well, actually, it didn't come out the way it was written on the menu. So I was kinda disappointed about that, but I don't like to complain.
Bite Me: Well, I'm glad you're able to spew yer angst to me. No matter, my column's not really about the food.
Pat: The food was okay. I've only eaten here twice. It doesn't feel like it'd be too comfortable to eat here tonight.
Bite Me: I'll say. So why're you here tonight?
Pat: I came here because I knew there'd actually be . . .
Bite Me: Hot chicks.
Pat: Well, there are a lot of chicks.
Bite Me: You're such a cutie.
Pat: No. I'm not cute.
Bite Me: You're right. You're hot. (Pat takes this opportunity to flip Bite Me's double shot onto the bar. The bartender looks delighted at the prospect of wiping it up. Bite Me's pissed only because ordering a replacement will entail having to hang at the noisy overpopulated bar for far more time than she'd prefer.)
Pat: Oh! I just spilled your drink. Let me buy you another one. (Bite Me would love to have taken Pat up on this offer since she'd paid nearly 20 bucks for the shot he spilled. However, waiting for service and hanging with the loud folk in the bar would have pushed her over the edge. She chose sanity over intoxication.)