“Where are the sharks?”

I hear it every Sunday. Why did it have to be Sunday? The day that the shark tank had to be cleaned? I told the manager to let the pubslc be aware of this. He say he would, but with Bob, you never know.

I had to stand by the enterance of the shark exhibit room and tell the countless people who had set there hearts on seeing those big grey beasts with fins over and over that the sharks weren’t there.

“Why?” they’d always ask. I’d have to explain when the stuff I was saying was right out on the poster in front of me. Don’t you people read?!

“Every Sunday,” I say. “They clean it every Sunday. So don’t come aroudn to the aquarium if all you want to see are some sharks!” The kids are whining, the adults mumbling irritably. Good riddance! Should’ve checked before you left, eh?

The sea otter guy looks at me in sympathy. He knows how it feels. His day is tommorow. After a couple come up and ask me again, he walks over and offers to take over my shift so I can go get some coffee. I nod and smile thankfully, heading over to the aquarium’s built-in Starbucks. I have no idea why there’s one in the place when there’s one right down the block. But hey, I’m not complaining. The shorter the walk for me, the better.

The cashier lady signals me to wait after the customers, but I’m having a bad day. I ignore her and slip in through the gate and make my own coffee. When she turns around to make a latte for one of them, she hisses at me, “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Sunday,” I explain. “I need a break.”