Where's Ya Sharks At?

BACKGROUND: 80% of sharks are under 4 feet in length. At the aquarium, we have a touch tank that holds several smaller species of sharks.

***All names have been changed to something ridiculous to protect their identity***

CHARACTERS:

Stevie

Arrogant Guest

Pinky

11:15AM on a Thursday

Location:

Exhibit Halls

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I stood facing the octopus tank, rubbing my temples after having told yet another guest not to use flash photography.

“Hey, man. Where’s ya sharks at?” a man asked, storming over to me with an entire outfit of Red Sox apparel and the thickest Boston accent I’ve ever encountered—we’ll call him Arrogant Guest.

“Hello to you too,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing. How can I assist you today, sir?”

“Yeah, where’s ya sharks at?”

“We have some located back on the first floor over in the touch tank area.”

“Nah, nah, nah. I’m not talkin’ about them. Not the pipsqueaks. The big ones. The real sharks.”

Real sharks. That one, little word is something we hear all the time that makes our blood boil. All sharks are real. We have real sharks. Sure, they’re small but the amount of labor, money, and energy that goes into caring for them is astounding. Shouldn’t that be enough? Nope. Some of the visitors just can’t be satisfied unless they get to see a live viewing of a great white shark breaching the water and devouring its prey.

I grimaced. “Those are real sharks. They actually—”

“Nah, they ain’t no real sharks. I catch them all the time when I’m out fishin’. Where’s the Jaws shark? The big mothers.”

“We don’t have great white sharks, sir.”

“You serious?”

“Yes. Nobody has great white sharks.”

“Well, that’s shit, ain’t it? I paid all this money for a great white shark and you don’t have a great white shark!”

I held my tongue as he proceeded to lecture me about his financial situation, and how much he wanted his money back. Eventually, I directed him back downstairs to obtain a refund.

“Sorry about that. Some people can be brutal,” a woman said, approaching me from behind dressed entirely in pink—we’ll call her Pinky.

“It happens more often than you think,” I replied.

“Sorry to hear it. What was all that about anyway?”

“Let’s just say it was about our sharks on exhibit.”

Pinky tittered. “Oh, perfect! I was just about to ask where your real sharks were?”

Here we go again … 

THE END