You Stole My Fish Sandwich, Last Chapter

I have started, stopped, deleted, re-started, re-stopped and undeleted this story way too many times. And since we were fishing buddies, it is time to cut bait:

Now I may be making some assumptions of this audience, but I am guessing that a good amount of you ended up at one of the following places after bar time:

·         Ma Fisher’s

·         George Webb’s

·         The Parthenon

·         Denny’s

·         Taco Bell

·         (insert alternate location)

No matter your inclination and/or location, the purpose was simple: to seek out sustenance to make the morning after minutely more tolerable. But for your humble orator, there was nothing better to come home to remnants of an unconquered mid-day meal after a full evening of lounge lizard-ness.

Now to set the stage for the crime: We were roommates. Share and share alike, but there were something that was not community property. You can drink my beer, but one rule was simple: Do. Not. Touch. My. Food. But apparently a Kopp’s Fish Sandwich, loaded with fried onions, tartar sauce, pickles and cheese will turn a man into a criminal.

Now, because I have the personality of a piece of granite and an extensive library of the worst pickup lines ever known to man, that sandwich was the only thing was going to give me a heighten state of ecstasy that evening. So after that evening's bender was brought to an end, I slithered back to the base camp for some oral satisfaction for the best food that Lucifer ever invented. But as I opened that ice box, the only thing I heard was those famous Colonel Kurtz words: ‘The horror…the horror….’

Next morning:
Me: “‘Did you eat my fish sandwich?”
You: “Yes”
Me: “That was MY fish sandwich!!!”
You: “I know. But it kept talking to me saying ‘Eat Me’…’Eat Me’.”
Me: “YOU STOLE MY FISH SANDWICH!!!!”
You: “I will buy you a new one.”

Eventually, a state of normality returned at the base camp, but you never made good on your end of the agreement. And as that living arrangement closed for good and we went our separate ways, still nothing.

As the years passed, I never let you forget that I was still expecting to be made contractually whole. Usually, the topic surfaced every fishing trip after yours truly had too many intoxicants. You just sat there with that same stupid grin, not saying a word. It was your way of showing me the concept of ‘survival of the fittest’ and your silence was your way of telling me that I had lost.

Why am I telling this story? Because you were the best man at my wedding, you were there when that two-faced Catholic exited and you bought me endless supply of $20 lappers to make me forget…you fixed my roof…you gave me your trolling motor battery…you visited my parents, even when I was not at home…you and the professor traveled 80+ miles to visit me on my birthday…you plowed my driveway when I was away on business, and I didn’t even ask… you loaned me your car for a date…This is what I remember of my friend. Your loss is immense beyond comprehension because of the life that you touched.

So for the time being, I will have to wait a while until we meet again. And the first thing I will do is remind you that you owe me $3.75…

…because you stole my fish sandwich.