Kiss the Cod

My stomach is a little better today, though I had to cut out of my shift about an hour early this morning. At about 4:30 I was getting to the point where I was wondering where the nearest railing was. I think it was partially because I was dehydrated and partially because I couldn't see the horizon in the dark. Generally that's what I've been using to steady myself, but one of the joys of night shift is the complete and utter darkness for 10 hours and the fog just makes it worse because there isn't even any stars out.

Night before last I drank a bottle of wine and a few shots of rum, and tried to have a push-up competition with some of the guys. Suffice to say I didn't get more than two or three so I decided I had to one-up them somehow, I was getting enough flack already for being an Albertan. Tammy the biologist had brought out a recently deceased cod (only about 3 or 4 inches long) from her research tank so we could perform the time honoured Newfoundland tradition of kissing the cod and taking a shot of rum. We all did it and then Brent (my supervisor), bet another guy, Shaun, 10 bucks to eat it. He got it all filleted for him and down the chute it went. A few more people showed up so we needed another cod. After it had done its duty, the poor little guy was unceremoniously left on top of a beer can. I grabbed it and popped it in my mouth- a couple of chews and down it went, head, guts and all. Rather salty but not too bad, all in all. There was no photographic evidence because I was too fast, but the boys sure looked at me with a new respect. At the very least, they aren't teasing me for being from Alberta anymore. I swear by the time I get back I'll be indistinguishable from a longshoreman.
-A.