DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST TIME? |
| Written by Joseph Ganja | |||
I cant believe I am doing this, dragging myself out of bed at like 4:00 AM on a Sunday morning to go fishing. All my buddies tell me its the thing to do, a great time, gotta try it, youre missing out, etc. etc. etc. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah I keep saying, but here I am, standing nude in the kitchen before the world is even awake, waiting on the damn coffee. I dont function at all without 2 pots of coffee and cigarettes in the morning You mean to tell me there are people out there that really do this? How I managed to get conned into this fiasco I still have not figured out, but in another 15 minutes my so called buddies from work will be here to pick me up and I have no way of stopping them. I guess I could try not answering the door, but knowing these clowns as I do, they would just stand out there and bang as loud as they could, til the whole darn neighborhood was awake. I like my neighbors been here over 4 years and they havent even once asked me my name, so I dont want to piss them off. I just managed to finish one cup and like maybe two puffs of my Marlboro and I hear the car pull in. Man! I was hoping they werent going to show. Well anyhow, here goes nothing, grab a to-go cup and the so called fun begins. I try to catch a few winks in the car on the way to this offshore sportfishing boat they have rented or chartered or whatever you call it, but you can just imagine what fishing fanatics are like when they are off to the hunt. Screaming, yelling, joking before the sun is even up. You would think fishing is the greatest thing since string bikinis. I am still not sure about all of this, but the conversation has already made its way to bets on who will catch the first, the most, the biggest, the best, and so on. Are these people joking? Nice boat, two chairs on the deck, smells like cut up fish and diesel fuel. Some scruffy looking guy, they tell me hes the mate, is running around the back deck checking on all the rods and stuff. He smells like cut up fish and diesel fuel too. I climb on board with my coffee, just thrilled at the thought of this excursion, hoping it does not turn out to be a forever voyage. Yeeeee Hawwww, out the inlet!! I am so thrilled I could just, well ... you know. The captain, a nice weather beaten looking man with salt crusted skin tells us we are heading to the shallows for baitfish. A short boat ride later, he stops the boat. Bobbing like a cork in this spot, sun still coming up, the mate starts his routine to get bait but nothing is happening. Laughing at this exercise and listening to my buddies still carrying on about who is going to catch what, I savor the last gulp of my coffee and watch the ridiculous routine. Diesel fumes are everywhere, so is the smell of fish and all of a sudden out of nowhere, I aint feeling so good. Without any warning, I haul my butt to the side and begin puking my brains out! Man, it even came out my nose! They tell me that I am sea sick and that I should look at the horizon and eat pretzels. Eat? Youve got to be kidding me. My God, this really sucks! Instantly there is uproar in the water fish are flying everywhere!!! I am stunned at what I am seeing, but its happening. They are getting them with a net here and scooping them right out of the water over there. I am getting hit with slimy little fish from every direction. Fish scales are sticking to my face and I feel so sick. I hear the Captain muttering under his breath something like Holy S#@t! For an hour straight, they all had a good laugh at me being green and leaning over the side, but they had their bait and I think I am starting to feel better as the boat is moving again. Trust me when I tell you, this was enough fun for me and I was ready to go home a long time ago. But no, now they tell me its on to trolling. Three hours now up and down the coast, near shore, offshore, into the wind, with the wind, into the waves, with the waves, shallow bait, deep bait, surface bait, smelly bait, artificial lures, rigged bally, and not a damn thing is happening. My buddies are like really bummed out. All I could think about is gulping down Coke after Coke to try and settle my stomach. I think the caffeine is working more than anything else, because now I am feeling really sick again and really awake. All of a sudden out of nowhere here comes the local police boat. I didnt even know they had police boats. Our boat comes to a dead stop again, as the police boat pulls alongside, just what I need. As the friendly neighborhood officer pulls up, the boat starts it bobbing and weaving again, diesel fumes float in over the deck, and I am feeling really, really, really lousy. It takes about a half-hour for him to come aboard, check the fish locker, and take a look at everyones ID and check for fishing licenses, something I of course dont have. I am doing everything I can to hold back the worst feeling I have ever had in my stomach. He and the mate have a few words about how lousy the fishing has been, he tells us good luck anyway, and he gets ready to leave. Looking back now, I guess this is where it really gets funny. Just as this guy was getting back on his boat to leave, my body decides it just cant hold on any longer and decides to reject the Cokes, whats left of the coffee and what ever else I have eaten in the last week, and over the side I go again. Without a single care in the world other than emptying my insides, I neglected to notice that I was actually on the side of the boat where this police boat was tied up. Thats right, you guessed it! I completely emptied what was left in my poor achy stomach right in, on and all over this guys shiny police boat. Evidentially, my friends, the fishy smelling mate and the scruffy captain all must have thought it was the funniest thing they have ever seen. These guys could not stop laughing and all I could do, was pray for dry land. I actually think a tear or two came down my cheek. If that wasnt bad enough, first thing Monday morning my friends all found the need to tell everyone in our office, thats 37 people, exactly what happened in colorful, step by step detail. Talk about feeling like a total idiot. After a lengthy rinse from a hose, the police boat finally leaves and our boat begins to move again. Thank God! Holding on to a fishing pole for balance, I try and stand up and WHAM! Damn near pulled me over the side, the line is flying off the reel, my ribs are totally aching, my nose is running, I can hardly see because my eyes are still tearing, but I pull up a bit on the fishing pole as everyone is screaming at me, and the fight begins. Now I dont know if it was because I was sick as a dog or just tired, but it sure seemed like forever before I got this fish to the side of the boat. Everyone is hoopin and hollarin, grabbin cameras and acting like they have never seen a fish before. Just a stupid fish to me, had a big fin on the back, long pointy spear like beak thing on the front, and was too big to get into the boat. The smelly mate let it go, which was fine with me, and the Captain even flew some kind of special flag as we finally headed in. I was really happy we were going back home. I think as soon as I heard the words time to go in, I immediately felt like a new person. They still talk about that day, and I am sure the story gets better everytime, as most fishing stories do. For me, well, I had to get up early, I did the most work, never got to eat whatever it was I caught, lost everything I had eaten in the last week or two, and went home smelling like cut up fish and diesel. Next time, I dont think I will answer the door; I dont really like the neighbors that much anyway.
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