A fish out of water story

“Could you please try and sit still for once? You’re always flopping around. It’s very distracting,” said the boss.

“But I’m a fish. What did you expect when you hired me?” said Joe Pesce.

He expected a hard worker. Pesce had come highly recommended from a friend, who also happened to be his friendly, neighborhood fish monger. Like most local fishmen, the monger was connected to organized crime. Filleting and deveining are just two more rackets for entrepreneurial young wiseguys. If he was honest with himself, which he rarely was, none of this would have been a surprise. The boss was the kind of fella who when he ordered dessert at a fancy French restaurant, he claimed he did it to make the lonely pastry chef in the back feel better. It was a form of charity, that’s all. Not because he’d ingest chocolate mousse intravenously if it were socially acceptable and scientifically possible. No, of course not. The boss got a thrill from being on the periphery of a world most people only saw in the movies. But what do 500-pound tunas know about graphic design?

“I expected someone who knew how to use Adobe,” said the boss.

“I told you I’d learn. It’s taken some time getting used to the mouse. I don’t exactly have hands,” said Joe.

“This isn’t working out,” said the boss. “You know it, I know it. Anyone who’s had the misfortune of watching you try to pour coffee knows it. Just yesterday I heard you were sleeping inside the lobby fish tank.”

“Technically, I wasn’t asleep.”

“But you were definitely out of office. And did your email auto reply reflect that? I don’t think so,” said the boss.

“I needed to clear my head a little. You know I’m not a cubicle guy.”

The boss knows that there are many different paths into advertising. Not everyone needs to attend ad school. However, Joe didn’t seem to possess any quality you’d want in an employee, even one a little rough around the gills. He was good for the occasional quip, entertaining colleagues with stories about plankton and fights with fisherman.

“The first account we put you on you refused to work for out of some strange moral objection. You know how many people in this building would gladly trade places with you, simply for the chance to work for that client?” said the boss.

“It was a canned tuna fish account. Did you honestly not see a slight conflict of interest there?" 

“I figured you were a team player. Look, I’ve written copy for FIFA and I think soccer, along with fascism and communism, is one of the three greatest evils perpetrated on mankind. But you should see the beautiful work I got to put in my portfolio. Life requires a certain amount of compromise, Joey,” said the Boss.

“That’s hardly analogous, sir,” said Joe.

“I’m gonna have to let you go,” said the boss.

Joe kept flopping, soaking the Herman Miller desk chair. What was once several grand was now garbage. You know how hard it is to get that fish smell out of leather? 

“Rocco’s not gonna like this,” said Joe, shaking his head.

“Rocco not my concern,” said the boss, now standing up, pacing behind his desk.

“And he shouldn’t be. But Rocco has friends. Good friends. Friends of mine. And should I be sent packing for reasons that are deemed unwarranted, then my enemies become their enemies,” said Joe.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Huh? I’m explaining to you how friendship works. Or maybe they didn’t teach you that in ad school.”

“I wanted this to work out, Joey. Really, I did.”

Joe stopped flopping for a second and picked up a picture of the boss and his son on a ski vacation.

“You ski much?”

“I try. That was taken in Vermont. A lotta people say the powder out west is better, but I dunno. I can’t drive to Utah for a quick weekend."

“Me? I’ve never skied. Looks fun though. Works all the muscle groups. It’s gotta be good exercise,” said Joe.

“It is. As I’ve gotten older, it’s one of those things I hope to keep doing. I’m not the golf or tennis type.”

“I hope you keep doing it, too. But the human body is a finicky machine. You never know,” said Joe, trailing off.

There was brief silence.

“It’d be a real shame if something were to prevent you from enjoying ski trips with your grandchildren. God, I’d hate to see that. I’m getting a little lightheaded. Mind if we cut this short?”

“No, of course not,” said the boss.

“I’m taking the rest of the day off."

Joe had no interest in learning photoshop. He took this job for the W2, so he could finally show some legitimate income on his taxes.

“I think it’s probably for the best if I didn’t come into work for a while,” said Joe.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said the boss.

“But you’re gonna keep paying me every week. That’s still our arrangement,” said Joe.

“You won’t regret it,” said the boss.

“I sure hope not,” said Joe.