Shellfish Farming Gothic
Your boss has been saying the same “catchphrase” all day, and its been so long since the last low tide you can’t remember if he said it last month.
You hear rustling up the beach and make the mistake of looking. You are given seaweed raking duty away from everyone else. You were seen looking and now it is dangerous to be near you.
The local wildlife guy tells you that somebody caught a “big'un” last week. He does not say it in the boastful, proud voice most big fish tales are told in. You remember last weeks storms and understand.
The college kid working with your crew is nice. She asks a lot of questions, though, thus making her first mistake. This month she doesn’t show up for work.
You’ve been shoving tube in the same row for the past hour, and can’t remember where the last row you planted was. There is only this row, then there are hundreds and you cant tell where on the plot you are anymore.
You’ve been folding tubes all morning. You must have folded five hundred by now, yet the bucket you’ve been tossing them in is empty. You keep folding.
The dock you launch out of every morning is in a rich white neighborhood. Everytime your crew arrives for the day the locals all stop and stare. You swear that their eyes are entirely black behind their designer shades, but you know better than to double check.
One of your co workers looks into the sky and says “Todays gonna be a good day for it.” He’s said that same sentence everyday since you started, and you’re still unsure what ‘it’ is exactly. The rest of the crew murmurs in agreement so you don’t ask. You never do.
Your boss has a new catch phrase. You can’t tell if it’s genuinely new or if its been so long since the last tide that you just don’t remember.
The boat gets moored as the tide goes out. Logically, you know it will be back. You still feel a bubble of panic rise in your chest at the prospect of being stranded.
The property owner lives on a cliff over the beach. You swear you see him in the big bay windows watching you. Your boss mentions that he’s out of town this month, and not due back for a week. He’s still watching from the window.
You here voices that don’t belong to your crew. Someone must be getting loud out on their boat. You scan the horizon but there’s only the barge and your own moored speedboat. You do not look again when the voices start back up.
The tide moves as it wishes. Do not bring up the speed at which it goes in or out unless you wish to be reminded of just how quickly it can move.
There are things in the water that could rip you limb from limb without ever being seen. Do not bleed, and if you do, do not let them taste it.
The craigslist ad for the job touted it as fun, and had these requirements: “Must be able to lift up to 50 pounds of equipment, must be able to spend long periods of time standing, must not fear the endless void of existence, must have reliable transportation, must wear iron at all times, must have rainboots or golashes, we’re gonna be in the tide!”
