Fish and Chips

Jesse opened the door and walked into the poorly lit pub. Moving to his usual corner of the bar, he made eye contact with the bartender and held up two fingers sideways. Before the whiskey hit the glass, Jesse changed his mind. “Make it three, Chip.”

The owner of The Chipped Mug, manning the bar on a slow afternoon, obliged with a nod. “Bad day?” Chip pulled a menu from behind the bar and slid it to Jesse who was currently savoring the freshly poured Jameson’s.

“Please tell me today’s special ain’t fish. I’ve had too much to do with fish lately,” Jesse made a face as he took a drink. “And I know it’s a sacrilege, but could I get an ice cube? It’s bloody damned hot outside… Fucking fish.” Grumbling, he passed the glass back to Chip.

“Special’s cold corned beef on rye with coleslaw - Sound good?” Chip received a nod in response. He tossed an ice cube in his friend’s glass, put the menu back in the stack, and headed back towards the small kitchen. He leaned his head out the pass through as he started on the sandwich. “So, it’s hot out and you hate fish? Anything else new?”

Working in a harbor town in the dead of July brought many complaints of heat, fish, and the smells associated with the combination of the first two topics of complaint. Chip in particular worked as a Harbor Patrolman. Not your average Police gig, but it was his only option after almost having a DUI on his record. His Captain was an old friend, and didn’t want to see him leave the force. So, instead Ltd. Jesse Chambers’ squad car was traded out for a bicycle and a schooner.

~ Laura