Gone Fishin’

Every year, about this time, Don Jose’s Mexican Restaurant (located about 36th street and Thomas Rd. in Phoenix, AZ, for those who are curious) would close down for about two weeks. In the window would be a sign that read, “Gone Fishing”.

Now, I couldn’t blame the owner for it. It’s the middle of July, after all. Who wouldn’t want a vacation away from tripping over those idiots who are constantly trying to fry eggs on the sidewalk? I can only hope he was smart enough to go fishing someplace that the fish weren’t jumping out of the water already fried up.

Next time, I will do my first promotion of why it was always a great disappointment to see that sign. But, for now, I will mention: I hate fishing.

It’s true. I did write on my facebook page that I had Gone Fishing last week, but that doesn’t mean I like it. You can only hear, “Shhhh! Be quiet. You don’t want to disturb the fish” so many times before you want to stick your head in the water and yell, “Get over it, Fish!” Of course, that plan doesn’t work very well when you get nasty, fish poop water in your mouth and nose.

The idea of fishing is always attractive. Especially with stories of Huckleberry Finn and the thought of lazing on a raft. Or, the stories of kids playing hooky just to sit under a cool shade tree, while casting a line. You cannot tell me that any kid on earth would keep perfectly still and quiet, so as not to disrupt the thoughts of a fish. Even Jesus Christ, himself, was friends with fishermen. He was smart enough to tell his disciples to leave their nets behind. Which proves even the Son of God didn’t want to waste time sitting around waiting for a fish.

What is so dad-gummed important underwater that fish would be disturbed by the noises us drylanders make, anyhow? How do we know the fish hear us? They don’t even have ears. Are they holding meetings underwater? Is that where all our think tanks come from? The bottom of a lake or riverbed? It would make the most sense. We never actually see anyone involved in these think tanks and they don’t seem to have any ideas that make sense to human beings.

So, for another year, I have fulfilled my obligations. The dust has been dusted and the fish gut smell has been washed out of my hair (I only had to rinse and repeat fifteen times this go round). The rest of the year’s fishing will be done from the cool, air conditioned comfort of my own living room.

Meanwhile, I’ll be eating steak.

Published in: on July 18, 2011 at 3:18 pm  Comments (2)  
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2 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. I once asked my Dad, when I was in my younger years, why one had to be so quiet since the fish couldn’t hear us. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Son. It is a time of relaxing while waiting for that bite. I sure as hell don’t want you to spoil my quiet time by babbling about some damn thing I don’t care about.” Needless to say, it took years to understand that point, but I have gladly passed it along to my kids!

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