Tar and brushes.

Dante is a bull.
He looks like a bull, walks like a bull, works like a bull, talks like a bull in a broken Brazillian lisp.
Dante is married and lives with his wife in Kilkenny.
Every morning Dante travels for two hours to work in Dublin in the stadium. He will work between 12 and 14 hour shifts daily. He will then travel the two hours back to Kilkenny.
When there is no work in the stadium Dante simply survives.
Like a bull.
Last weekend on a slash rain Saturday night at 3 am I got a taxi from the stadium home.
A car with no lights pulled out in front of the taxi driver.
"Fucking Polish" he exclaimed.
I ask him how does he know the driver was Polish. The registration was Irish.
"You can just fucking tell" he replies.
He then proceeds to spew a litany of vitriol ending with the oft quoted but never bettered taxi driver mantra.
"taking all our jobs".
He tells me his daughter and her daughter live with his daughters boyfriend. They are both unemployed and are both claiming social welfare.
I tell him that there are a host of jobs available in the stadium. Both casual and full time.
He tells me "nah they wouldn't be interested in that type of thing".
I then tell him about Dante. About how Dante is still working in the stadium as he drives me home and how Dante will stay there until 6 am mopping beer stained floors.
I tell him "you cant tar everybody with the same brush".
And he laughs "yeah I know, we need more fuckin brushes".
And I smirk. Uncomfortably.
And I don't know why.