“We’re a dying breed. Have some sympathy for us,” I told the Nike executive. The guy just sat there in his expensive suit and expensive haircut. “There’s honor in what we do and how we work,” I went on. The executive clicked his pen and looked bored.
Nike wouldn’t hire us leprechauns. Centuries of shoemaking and you would think a major shoe company would be interested in us. They weren’t. They had children in Indonesia making their poorly made shoes. Why would Nike hire leprechauns? They’d have to pay us a decent wage and comply with all the EU regulations.
I collected my sample shoes and left the office. I had to go back home and tell all the other leprechauns that I had failed to broker a deal. I’m not sure what we’re going to do. Nobody wants quality, cobbled shoes. I walk into town and I see all these cheap plastic, pleather, and nylon shoes and I want to scream.
It’s getting harder for us leprechauns to stir up mischief too. People laugh at us. Some point. That didn’t happen in the old days. We had respect. People would fear us.
God dammit. We used to have respect.
I went home and walked into the pub. All the leprechauns were clustered there.
“I had no luck,” I said.
“That’s alright,” said Finn. “We didn’t think you would. But we got an idea that tourists will love. We’re going to start a leprechaun museum.”
Wonderful. More opportunities for people to laugh and point. I drank my beer and kissed respect goodbye.