How I Learned the Meaning of Belly Side Up

So for those of my devoted readers that don't already know, I work part time for a Cafe. This morning as I'm driving to said Cafe at 6:55 I get a text from my co-worker who is already there.

The text reads:

Ashley, are you almost here, I'm scared, I think Hoover is dead.

My heart naturally started to beat wildly, and I hit the gas a little. Then as I'm speeding down Broadway I get the thought, "Who the hell is Hoover?" Several things rush through my head as sneak through a red light. Was Hoover one of the nicknames we'd made up for the homeless people that hang around the cafe, did she show up to find him dead huddled up for warmth under our overhang? It had been rather nippy the night before....Or worse yet, was Hoover the name of one of our several elderly patrons? Had he passed out face first onto his breakfast sandwich? By this time I'm pulling into parking lot. When I get to the door I'm relieved to find that there aren't any bums outside, nor customers inside. But my co-workers eyes were undeniably red and puffy. She let me in, then pointed across the cafe. That's when it hit me. Hoover was our fish. Not just any fish mind you, but a 17 year old, 13 lb fish that has become kind of like a mascot for the cafe. Not only has he survived 17 years, but something like 4 different owners.

Here is a picture for those of you who are not familiar with him:

Of course this is not what he looked like this morning. My Co-work told me between sniffles that she wasn't sure if he was dead. She couldn't bring herself to go look into the tank, and wanted to know if I could check.

Now for the record, Hoover and I weren't very close. Judging by the fact that I didn't even know his name was Hoover you could just call us acquaintances. I never even so much as fed the guy, wait, I really hope it wasn't my job to feed him. Anyways, I agreed to investigate the presumed death of the fish. Due to the sensitive nature of the moment I refrained from doing my best Horatio Cane impression before heading to the tank. This is what I found when I got there:

I'm telling you, I didn't even need to pull off my sunglasses in slow motion and make an over obvious statement to know this fish was dead. I've never seen a deader fish. His gills weren't moving, he was laying on the bottom of the tank upside down and he was a weird color. Not to mention that there was an X where his eyes used to be. So I called it, time of death 7:03am, Wednesday January 5th, 2011.

The next thing we had to do was call the owner and give her the bad news. Since I was the only one that saw the carnage first hand I was elected and made the call. The Owner was at the Cafe 15 minutes later, 20 minutes after that I was holding a large black trash bag and getting nasty dead fish water dripped all over me as Hoover took his final journey. I can't help thinking that he's spent the last 17 years wondering what life would be like outside his tank. I think he would have been disappointed.

The day progressed with an air of sadness. We spent most of the morning contemplating the cause of death. Several theories were discussed. Perhaps he was overfed, maybe someone had put bleach in the water, possibly he had mistaken a pebble at the bottom of the tank for a little shrimp and had choked on it, who knew? We would later come to learn from the fish coroner, aka the guy that cleans the tank, that no, Hoover had not been a victim of murder, he was just old.

When I was getting ready to leave, my co-worker and the owner were discussing whether or not they should get a plaque to go above the fish tank in Hoovers memory. All I could think of was one of those fake mounted fish that turn their head and sing when you push the button. I almost suggested as much, but then quickly remembered that my comment about having fish sticks as our daily special didn't go over too well when I'd said it about 10 minutes earlier. So out of respect for the dead I keep quiet.

I'm not sure what the moral of the story is, not really. Maybe all stories don't need a moral. Maybe this was just my way of sending Hoover off in style, I'm guessing not may fish get an obituary.

So here's to you, where ever you are now, Hoover the fish, I hope you have all the little shrimps you can eat and a much bigger tank to swim in. It was nice to work with you, and I'm sorry I didn't know your name.