The Fisherman

         I first met him on a chilly February morning. How could I have missed him when his appearance was such a sight for sore eyes. He wore an old grungy fisherman’s hat which looked like it had taken a swim in mud. His eyes gave out that alert look as if to say, “Beware”. I bet he hadn’t had a wash in ages because of his long shaggy beard. It was all matted and was turning grey, although I couldn’t really hold a grudge because of my position.

         He said that he had sailed the seas;I didn’t believe him. How could someone who looked like a beggar on the street have that much experience? He said that I was naive and that he could tell what I was thinking. What was I supposed to say to that? It was a strange interview, I couldn’t tell if he was going to call me back or not. I don’t know why, but I felt that I had less of a chance of rejection than any other job.

         My instinct had been right, he did call me back. This time, there were two other men with him. They were probably in their twenties, same as me. The one on his right was short, squat and was wearing a pair of dungarees. I could already see the grime under his fingernails. The one on his left was the total opposite. He was tall and weedy looking, when he smiled a toothless grin shone through.

         My interviewer signalled for me to come over, I immediately obliged. We exchanged a few words, then he addressed us all. He set us our task-to find as many fish as possible. The short, squat man looked like he knew exactly where to go and rushed off whereas the tall and weedy looking man hesitated a bit first. I’d only fished a bit when I was younger, in my father’s fishing boat, but I had a pretty good idea of what to do. I wandered off with my fishing gear on my back trying to find the perfect spot. When I found it I started putting my bait on the rod. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t seem to catch anything. We only had ten minutes left, I couldn’t go back without anything.

         That was when I spotted the local fish shop. It was a great risk, but I was willing to take it. I got a fresh organic salmon, hopefully he’d be pleased. I looked at my watch, five minutes left. When I neared the port I could see his figure standing on the sidewalk. I walked over to where he was standing. Yet again the other two men had got there before me, so much for making a good impression.

         My interviewer first inspected the short, stout man’s bucket. He had got two trout and about ten sardines. He told him that it was a good effort. I should really have got more from the fish shop. He then moved on to the tall and weedy man. He had got three kippers and a herring. Yet again my interviewer told him it was a good effort. I was getting more and more nervous, I think he could tell. Slowly he walked over to my bucket. He looked into it then looked up. As he looked up a grin escaped his mouth. He burst into laughter. I was confused. What was going on? Again he looked into my bucket and burst into laughter. He took my hand and led me forwards.

         He told me he’d never had anyone who had a sense of humour. He thought it was a joke! Me, trying my hardest then giving up. The other two men looked as if they were about to kill me. I had been chosen.