another revision

Every time I bend down, the blood rushes to my head and the room spins. Every fish is harder to cut and I can’t keep this damn knife steady. I had a great time at that party. The stripper was late, but the wait was worth it. The beer supply never ended. Eric is getting hitched in a week. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just a short time ago Eric and I met freshman year of high school. I wish I hadn’t drank so much and I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.
This stupid monkfish is a nightmare to cut. You get used to it after awhile but last night I had to be stupid and drink that much lager. I lost count of how much I drank but I remember stumbling out of the cab at 1 a.m. Then I kind of blacked out.
Every time someone hits a bone my head pulses. These fluorescent lights definitely aren’t helping, bouncing off the bloodstained metal table into my face.
This job really isn’t for me. I actually hate it but I’m too scared to leave. Maybe I’m not scared but something is keeping me here. Fishmongers are becoming less common. Technology is more efficient and cheaper.
This economy is affecting everything. People are buying less fish. Some of the local specialties are being put on hold until things get back to normal. The calamari usually sells. Most of the local restaurants have it on their menu.

“Joe, hurry up! We need to get those fish out front fast.”

"I'm working on it!"

That would be my father, George. I secretly admire his drive, something I never seemed to have, but I wish he would give me some slack. I wish I wasn’t the oldest. This business has been in the family for six generations and I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember. Even as a teenager I worked here in my free time. Why didn’t I go elsewhere? Because of my father?
Despite the cold temperatures for the fish, I’m sweating. The apron is especially irritating today, never settling in the right position. What's the point of wearing a white apron if its only going to turn red?
I have gotten used to the sight of blood and fish guts everywhere. I used to pity the fish as a kid but I don’t care anymore.
Finally, with my arm nearly numb from the extra exertion, I’m done gutting all the fish. I call my father over so we can hurry and keep these fish fresh. Timing is very important around here. If the fish are old, you can feel it, let alone smell it. Those damn things reek if you aren’t careful. I don’t notice it, but the people out front do and we catch hell for it. The people in this area are very obsessed with hygiene so we butcher in the back before we bring the fish out.
The owner of this place, Susan, she can be a menace. She cares more about keeping up the looks of the place than the actual workers. One time she and I got into this fight because some rich person complained to her about the quality of the fish. The fish were fine, even my dad said so. That wasn’t good enough for her. I guess she is just trying to stay out of a lawsuit. It’s all based on money. Everything seems to be controlled by money these days. If you have enough money, you are invincible and people will nearly worship you. Organic food always costs more so we attract a lot of nut jobs here.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer. A lot of my friends think it’s funny that I am a fishmonger in love with the ocean. It is pretty strange. They also hate how sand gets into everything. I love to bury my feet in it but it does get annoying spending five minutes dumping the grains out. I always seem to miss a few and my toes complain until I do something about it.
Picking up the fish, I am reminded of the slimy texture. I put the halibut into the ice of the cart and shove the metal of the price sign in. Hopefully the fish sell better today, yesterday was pretty slow. I hate having to stand there and watch the people look at the fish, then walk away. You have to be polite about it though. We take shifts to break up the workday. I have another hour before I am free to take my lunch break. I need to go on a walk; I need to get away from this putrid stench. Some people say they would love to be around food all day. It gets old fast. You always hear a buzzing fly and hope he stays away from what you are trying to sell. Flies tend to upset people. A lot of things tend to upset people. I notice the little petty arguments and complaints meant for only their ears. You notice a lot when you have to stand with nothing to occupy you.
My feet really hurt. And my headache is still here. The scuffs in the tiles are enough to stir up my already bad mood. Why didn’t I go to college? I could have had more opportunities than dealing with a truck that won’t turn over.
My two cousins also work here with us, but usually don’t do the pick up from the fisherman. My family is pretty close knit. I’m pretty happy about that. I work in a father and son team. I never decided to work like this but it just sort of happened and has been this way for the past nine years.
Lunch yields a limp sandwich and a diet coke. I was never that good of a cook, and being out on my own really proves it. I want a new car but all my extra money goes towards the mortgage. This job really doesn’t pay well but not many jobs seem too.
The road we have to drive on to get the fish is hellish. There are potholes everywhere. Not too many people come out this way, unless they are headed out fishing. This means nothing gets fixed until someone gets injured, as long as that someone is not me.
Loading the crates into the truck, I am reminded of how my father is aging. He always seems so strong to me, working as hard as he does. Now I notice how he and to stop and rest every so often. Ever since my mom died, he has been pushing himself to work as hard as he can. I can’t believe she’s been gone for six years. That really was a blow to the family. Luke was only 17 at the time. I guess Dad afraid of something too. We don’t really talk to each other, that wastes to much time.
The rest of the day is a repeat of this morning. Check the crates to make sure it matches the label on the side, it’s routine. Throw the crates out back near the dumpster. Eventually a truck driver who didn’t even finish high school will come and pick them up and take them to who knows where. I think they get reused. I don’t really care. You always see the people who want you to care about the environment, but all they care about is money it seems. One nearly leapt in front of me the other day. Don’t they have real jobs? I wonder how much it pays to annoy people and wave a clipboard.
After I cut the fish I stick them in the walk in fridge. One time, as a prank, I locked my cousin in there. I think I did it out of boredom. He put salt in my coffee that day, now I have a thermos.
It’s 6 pm and the market is getting ready to close. Thankfully people wanted fish today, so not too much is left. Limp, trodden, lettuce is on the ground. Water from a nearby hose mixed with the rubber mats makes the ground all the more disgusting to walk on.
I’m glad the day is over but I have to do it all again tomorrow. I guess I’ll stay for my dad, and I guess I always wanted to impress him. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll stick it out and stay. Whatever, this is too much to think about. It’s late and the game is on tonight.