The Chain Saw Massacre

THE CHAIN SAW MASSACRE

I had read somewhere that people who do not wish to work for a living find employment within state service. Now I realize that the statement does not apply to everyone within the rank and file, however, from what I have witnessed over my tenure, I was afforded the distinct “opportunity” to be cast into the limelight of a few people who have been absent of common sense.

It was not a well kept secret that once the dreaded dandelion weed poked its head throughout lawns across the state, that spring time fishing would claim the majority of my attention. With this in mind, it had been requested by certain working acquaintances on numerous occasions if it would possible to supply them with a few of the fish I happened to catch during my excursions.

Being a catch and release fisherman, I did not relish the fact that agreeing to their request would now place me in a position to bring in a smelly dead fish into a professional state office building atmosphere. However, in view of the fact that the requests came from personnel who appeared to be one step from a soup kitchen, I consented although with some reservations.

It was May and the one of the department directors requested to have his solid oak executive desk cleanly sanded and refinished with oak stain by the maintenance forces of the carpenter shop. After several days of preparation, the final fine sanding coat stage of the desk was finished. It was ready for the first coat of light oil base stain. It was stored safely inside the Carpenters shop along numerous other grades and lengths of lumber and timbers.

One particular morning, prior to the start of my work day, I was fishing my favorite strip of beach shore line. A huge school of striped bass exploded on the surface, feeding on smaller fish, and well within my casting range. Before they departed to deeper water and chasing the baitfish, I had landed three fish that would bring a smile to any fisherman face. Remembering my promise, I placed the three fish in a large HEFTY lawn bag and started my commute to the city. Due to time restraints and the start of my work day, I did not have time to clean the three striped bass. In view of this and the size of the fish, I hurried to remove the metal racks in the refrigerator. There was now ample room to place the lawn and leaf bag inside containing the three fresh fish.

I was in my cubicle area when Rocco, one of the “requesters” happened to pass by. He was delighted upon being informed that I had remembered and complied with his request. He quickened his steps toward the “treasure” stored in the lunch room refrigerator.

It was shortly thereafter that conversation my desk phone rang. It was the clerical assistant for the boss. I was informed that the department director wanted to see me immediately in the Carpenter Shop. Biting my lower lip and a bit worried that I had done something wrong, I hurried through the corridor and out into yard and across the complex. The door to the Carpenter Shop was fully open and I stepped inside.

I gasped at the sight before me. My immediate reaction was this was a scene from a B grade “slasher” film. Friday the 13th or Halloween. Freddy vs, Jason. Scream 1 thru 10. There were blood streak smears and droplets splattered everywhere. The walls, the ceiling, the floor and most of all, on the beautiful untreated oak surface of the director’s desk were literally covered in fish blood.

“There he is now. He’s the one who brought in the fish. He should take the blame for all this. Not me!” shouted Rocco pointing an accusing finger.

All eyes trained me. I stammered and didn’t know what to say. Then Rocco held up a chain saw and shook it at me.

“Look at what you made me do. You didn’t clean the fish you brought in and nobody I asked had a sharp knife so I had to use the 16” chain saw from the foreman’s truck to cut off the fish head. I tried to fillet it,” Rocco protested once again. “But the teeth on the chain must need sharpening or the chain is on backwards on the bar because it didn’t cut clean.”

I stuttered for a moment but I had to ask for confirmation. “You used a chain saw to cut the head of a fish off?” I said in disbelief.

“Only the head part,” explained Rocco. “I used the carpenter’s table saw for the tail section and for the fins.”

The director closed his eyes and shook his head. His hands clenched into tight fists. He pivoted turning toward me. He paused a moment and with daggers in his eyes, he spoke through gritted teeth.

“ Chuckie, the next time you want to bring in fish, make sure they are the kind that come from a market and are already cleaned.”