The driver of the truck was paying for his lunch at the window. His tailgate was open.
I surveyed the truck bed. It contained buckets and what looked like an old freezer lying on its side, held in place with yellow rope.
I saw something moving. What was it?
Then it flopped.
OMG. It was a fish. A flopping fish.
I gasped. What the flip was a fish doing in the back of a pick up truck in Wendy's drive through?
The fish kept flopping. As if trying to make a get-away. What should I do???
“There’s a fish flopping in that truck!” I said loudly to nobody.
Nobody responded. The fish kept flopping.
“He’s gonna die!” I roared.
Where did he come from? The bucket? He was about 6 inches long so he probably wasn’t bait. Unless they were fishing for really big fish.
I quickly sized up the situation. I could step out of my car and tell the driver that there was a fish flopping around on his tailgate. He would probably laugh at me.
Or I could rescue him! That’s what I should do. There was a sidewalk between our vehicles. I could walk past and casually reach in and grab the little guy.
But he needed water. Badly. His flops had become less spirited. All I had was Diet Coke and I was relatively certain no fish could survive long in Diet Coke.
I had no choice. I had to tell the driver about the fish.
Except he drove away.
“Wait!!!” I screamed. “There’s a fish flopping on your tailgate!”
I was sick to my stomach. The poor guy was dead meat. Make that dead fish.
I drove up to the window. The employee said, “$5.19,” without looking at me.
I handed her my credit card and in a shaky voice said, “There was a fish flopping around the back of that truck.”
“Say what?”
“There was a fish flopping around in the tailgate of that truck. The one you just served.”
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t see no fish.”
I did. And I wish I hadn’t.
My fish sandwich would have tasted way better.
