Bob Biter

I see him approach the counter, affecting the stride of the dissatisfied. This man is pissed, but in his face I see that he bears it badly. He doesn't want to be here, to complain, but he probably keeps all sorts of black moods inside and now, he is taking a stand. I served him yesterday, and he was quiet and self-obfuscing, now he meets my gaze, works up his courage. "He's just a lone sales clerk," he tells himself. "He's paid to just stand there, take it and apologize. It'll be cathartic." He holds some sort of black box in his hands, with some rubber tubing coming out of it. It's leaking a little bit of water. I smile.

He's close to me now. He reveals the contraption. All that remains is the physical barrier of the counter and the social barrier of tact.

- "Can I help you, sir?"
- "Yeah. What's this?"
- "Let's see... well, this looks like this year's model of the Lil' Goldie Aquajet Filter, which I sold you yesterday. It should be in your aquarium right now, helping to keep your fish alive. What's his name?"
- "It's Re... hey! Don't start with me, man! My goldfish was normal yesterday, BEFORE I bought this piece of crap, and now he's... he's..."
- "Dead?"
- "No."
- "Sick?"
- "No!"
- "What, then?"
- "He's... more... ah... he's more golden!

It takes a lot for him to say that, and I love him for it. He probably lives alone, no girlfriend, working a steady, but boring job in which he has little control over things. Buying a fish was perfect for him. Low maintenance; doesn't leave hair everywhere; relaxing to watch. Perfect. Now his little diversion has changed and the control he thought he bought for himself was becoming unpredictable. His face is an interesting mix of embarrassment, incredulity and annoyance.

- "More golden, sir?"
- "Ye... yeah. Since you sold me this damn filter thingy yesterday, I thought you could make it work properly. I mean, a goldfish isn't really supposed to be... uh... made out of gold! It's just supposed to be shiny like gold."
- "Wait. You say your fish is now made out of gold and it's still alive?"

He looks down at his shoes. Blood rushes to his face as he mumbles an answer, stops himself, then starts again.

- "Well... he's not solid gold. He's still swimming around, but he's slow and keeps to the bottom of the tank."
- "Huh... I guess he just needs to get adjusted to his new state. I wouldn't add any new fish to your aquarium, since they might become jealous or something. Have you changed his diet?"
- "Listen, buddy, this isn't funny! I'm not making this shit up! He's made out of gold now! Some weird... flexible gold that's sticking to him! I even found this at the bottom, near the little castle."

He produces an envelope and delicately opens it. I already know what it is before he dumps it on the counter. Tiny little golden chunks tinkle out. Good thing it's quiet in the shop today. I smile again.

- "What's that, sir?"
- "You tell me! I found the first little batch of... this, about 2 hours after Red October finished eating last night. Then there...
- "Red October, sir?"
- "Yeah... that's his name."
- "Like the movie with Sean Connery?"
- "Uh, yeah... plus I got him last week, in October."
- "Sounds like you got all your angles covered, sir."
- "Listen! Then I found another little pile this morning, a while after I fed him! When I bought him, I didn't have a filter yet and nothing weird happened. Now... now this!"
- "Looks like gold."
- "Yes!"

His voice is different now. He came in ready to be brusque and to have people snap to it. That "yes" just now was a revelation. It started high and angry and finished low and contemplative. Quite impressive for a man to do with a 1-syllable word. He's looking at the golden bits now, not breathing hard. He doesn't want to blow them off the counter. I look at him in rapt attention. I see it. He's wondering what he was upset about. He now possesses a goldfish that, unbelievably, shits gold. Right near a little fake castle, no less! He looks at the filter, reaches for it, then stops. He looks up at me and meets my gaze, unblinking.

- "How?"
- "How, sir? Maybe Red October wanted to make you happy. That's the wish of any pet, right? Isn't that why you bought it?"
- "But... it only started yesterday... after I bought this filter... from you."
- "Well, I don't think I had anything to do with that, sir. I mean, it's just a filter. I have an assembly manual here for your model. Let's have a look together."

I reach under the counter where stacks of booklets are located. Two of them are composed of Lil' Goldie literature. The bigger stack has the boring, white booklets with that annoyingly small print. The one I reach for is much smaller, and had blue booklets. I pull one out and open it.

The customer and I go over the instructions and he assures me he did everything right. A smile creeps on his face and stays there. I close the booklet and put it back under the counter. He thanks me profusely and turns to leave. He walks like someone new. He is discovering everything again. He barely notices the yuppie family that shoves past him as he exits and sees a jeweler next door. He walks to it and his face turns bright. Almost golden.

I take my eyes off him from the window and let them drift towards the family. Noisy kids, designer clothes and stiff upper lips. They hover around the fish tanks. The kids point and scream and want gold. The parents hush them sternly and ask a clerk what it takes to keep these fish alive (at least long enough for the kids to get bored of them and not care when they float up to the top). She sets them up with a few goldies, a tank and this year's brand new filter. The parents laugh at the name a make their way to me, rolling their eyes.

I reach under the counter and pull out a white booklet, smiling.

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A plan is just a list of things that don't happen.