Scrod

There’s no such thing as scrod.

I said it plainly but respectfully so that no one at the Captain’s Patter could hear me but the frazzled old woman in sandy yellow at the counter could hear me. She looked like a mother lion in librarian glasses. She was not having any of it.

…I’ve got salmon, cod?

Lion Glasses stares blankly in retort.

Nothing. Maybe a slight resigned exhale and Lion Glasses turned and lurched toward the sausage display.

I picked up my ice scoop and continued prepping the counter for the day. Fridays are the worst - mostly due to lapsed Catholics making up for sins by stocking up halibut steaks and colossal prawn pseudo-fasting.

Larry, it’s time for your break.

My head jerks quickly back to where Katie’s nudge came from and I spill ice on the rubber floor mat. I drop the ice scoop into the melting slurry and start to get the heck out.

…Back in a bit.

OK, she grins without looking back, see you in 15.

I shuffle out to the loading gate and past the external freezer and into the expanse of the gravel parking lot. From the platform, I can see that the Thaw has started. There are way too many cars driving by and at least one bro-man in shorts. Shorts. The Thaw is usually an unwelcome click of backbone disjoints or kneecap creaks. Out here, the ground shifts from sludge, to mud, to moist – nothing ever gets dry. Days of mostly cloudy or partly sunny won’t change my soggy disposition. My hoodies and flannel will be waterlogged for another two months.

I’ve got to get out of the fish business. So far, three quarters of my adult life have been spent either frying or wrapping some kind of fish. This isn’t what I was meant to be, was it? Ralphie rolls by, pushing the garbage cart after his rounds through the parking lot.

…at least I don’t have his job.

What was that?

A zap of embarrassed shock shoots up my back and into my jaw. Katie is standing behind me now. She twists her finger in a circular, let’s frame this image in a universal frieze for a moment of contemplation and ridicule.

What is going on here? She intones, pointing at my work outfit.

It’s a plaid shirt, that’s what I wear.

Although it was just turning to spring, I was dressed like a lumberjack. I looked down at my feet, so it would be like this here, too. I could feel my cheeks growing warm and outlook cooling. Katie had made the list. It had been a while since I’ve felt this way. But now, at some point soon, I would unleash on her. At first, I’d mention in an oh so casual way, maybe just a high-level observation about her. It would be humorous - but it would be at her expense. I began seeing an orchestrated flurry of call-backs and crowbarred subtle references about her propensities and peccadillos until some yet to be determined minor character flaw would be inextricably linked to her sense of self among our co-workers and peers.

Oh, well…I like it.

Flushed, I say thanks and head back inside. I grab my apron and head to the fish counter to finish my morning stocking. Today was turning out better than I had planned. Maybe this could be a new start. I reached down for my ice scoop and was about to start when I heard someone clear their throat with an accusatory, nasal huff.

Lion Glasses.

…It was in the Frozen section.

I’m sorry, ma’am, excuse me?

The SCROD – it was in the Frozen section. It says right here – Premium Frozen Scrod Pomodoro. It was IN the frozen section.

Ah, thank you, ma’am.