|An improv session at Linda's|
"Well, this is different, but alright".
Not long after the arrival of hats, an improv band was established. Fiddle and accordion filled the inn with a festive mood. Dancing and jolly making soon followed. The "Screech In" appeared to have turned into a regular party. This appearance was shattered when Linda Brought out a tray. Resting on said tray were the following items:
7 shots of screech rum.
7 pieces of smoked capelin
1 frozen sea bird
My next thoughts after catching sight of this were in the neighborhood of;
"Where the hell is this going?"
|Linda prepares the ceremony|
Next in the agenda was for each of us to kiss the butt of a long dead bird (30 years dead to be exact). Each of us took our turn placing our lips on a feathery behind. At this point I couldn't wait to finally down the screech. I needed something to sterilize my mouth.
The "Screech In" ended with some final words and a shot of the infamous rum. And with that we all became honorary Newfoundlanders. It was a surreal process, one that would be hard to explain to anyone not familiar with this place. Any story that ends with "Then I kissed the butt of a bird" is sure to get some strange looks on the mainland. Newfoundland manages to somehow be horrifying and wonderful at the same.