Gone Fishing

What do these three items have in common? Well, they're all items that can be used to make a homemade fishing rod, of course!

Yesterday I went to sit and relax at the promenade a few blocks away from my apartment. I was about halfway into bliss when I noticed this man doing the unthinkable: catching fish in rather dirty Atlantic Ocean water.


Now I love fish as much as the next person, believe me. If I don't know where my fish were harvested, all the better. However, if I'm going to fish, I like to actually SEE what's swimming around in my water. If the water isn't clear, then the fish aren't dear. I used to live near the Gulf of Mexico when I was younger, and that seawater was brackish. You can't see a damn thing in that water. I mean, you might be swimming next to a dead body and not even notice. Seriously.

As far as I'm concerned, nothing but radioactive fish flit about in my neck of the Atlantic. Despite the radioactivity of the water, people still decide to fish here. I get it. Recession. Victory gardens, meals for under $1.00, making your own detergent and all that jazz, but I draw the line at fishing in nasty water.

The thing that killed me yesterday was that this little old man decided to set his "fishing rod" near my bench. He wasn't a spry young man, either. I'd have to say this man was around 60 years old. Every five minutes he would climb over the railing - the SAME railing that is designed to keep daredevil pedestrians away from the Atlantic - and cast his "lure" into the water. Then the old codger would teeter around on the rocks and carefully CLIMB back over the railing to sit and wait for his catch.



Every time this man would climb over the railing, I would turn my head. I turned my head for the following reasons:

1. I was about to die from laughter watching this man fish.
2. If the man suddenly slipped and fell into the ocean, I didn't want my conscience to be guilty for the remainder of my life if I didn't attempt to save him. You know the stereotype that black people don't know how to swim? Well, I actually know how to swim, but after hearing many a story about my ancestors throwing themselves off of boats rather than spend a life of servitude for uppity masters, I decided not to set foot in the ocean.

But back to my guilty conscience. So say the 60 year-old had fallen into the ocean, right? I would have been one of the people who would have seen him fall in first. If I didn't immediately get up to move, he probably would have used that "trick" that psychologists tell people to use whenever they're in danger. You know the one: SCREAM and point at the first person you see? The one where you say something like, "Hey you in the pink tank top! Help me out of the water?"

Yeah. That one.

After watching this man "fish" for about 15 minutes, I got up and left my bench because I was not going to feel guilty for not having saved this man if he ended up in the Atlantic.

So let this tale of fishing be a strong warning to all of you daredevils out there. If I ever see you fishing in brackish water, I'm not risking my life to save you. Sorry, but I'm getting off of my bench and moving to another spot.