Carolyn Mueller

It's 10 a.m. and Joe is slowly working at a job he does not like. He, like so many others, is quite unhappy. Joe didn’t want to be a fishmonger, but every man in his family became one. It has been a family tradition for six generations. As Joe cuts up a monkfish, his mind drifts back to the party he attended the previous night.

I had a great time at that party. My best friend, Eric, is getting hitched in a week. Last night was his bachelor’s party. I can’t believe he is going to get married. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just recently Eric and I met freshman year of high school.
I wish I hadn’t drank so much, my head is killing me. I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.

As Joe washes his hands, he thinks about how his job is being replaced by technology. He didn’t really mind as long as he could stay employed. Who knew with this economy on top of everything else?
His father was still working at the same place as Joe and Joe sped up his work pace as his father came to check on him.
“We need to get those fish over to the market fast, so hurry up boy.”
Joe’s father, Ed, had always been tough on him. Joe was the oldest of the three boys and gained the most scrutiny from it. He admired his father’s drive but wished for some slack.

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.

As Joe finished cutting the halibut then pricing it, he called his father over so they could begin to load everything into the truck. Being father and son, they worked as a father and son team. Joe didn’t really decide this, but it just sort of happened and had been this way for the past nine years.

This truck is getting pretty beat up. I really could use a new one but I’m still using my extra money for my mortgage. This job doesn’t pay much at all.

The market was a four-mile drive up the road. It was one of those new organic places, the ones that seemed to pop up within the past ten years. They parked in the back as usual and began to unload the merchandise.
Ed went in to tell them to get the carts out. Timing is always important, as is refrigeration. If it isn’t done right, the fish reek. After twenty minutes of hard work, the two men head back to work. By now it is lunchtime and Joe takes a walk. He wants somewhere that is not fish scented.

I know I always think that I hate it here, and I do. I guess I am too scared of what my father will think if I tell him I want to leave. He seems to be content with his job. I want more to my day then washing the guts out of a flounder. I want to breathe in air that doesn’t smell this awful. I don’t know what job I want, but I definitely don’t want anymore of this. I really wish I had gone to college, instead of going directly here. I wish I cared a bit more about school. I know I can’t keep thinking like this. It isn’t getting me anywhere. I also know there are a ton of other people out there that also hate their job but they don’t really affect me. I really wish I could figure something out. The worst is that I don’t know what I want so I am stuck here.

Joe slumps back to his station in obvious despair. A nearby worker sees this and asks him what has happened. Not wanting to divulge his personal turmoil, he simply shrugs and gets back to work. A new load of fish come in, needing to be completely slaughtered. He didn't even pity the fish anymore, but he did once, long ago.