Mr Fishy

I’d drunk enough to piss myself in my sleep. That was the reality which I’d come to accept. It was a rare state of being where my thinking was steadier than my walking. If I were on my own, this would have been manageable; however, I was with Alice. She was protesting against the reality, complaining loudly across the table. Her frustration was building as her critique was not answered by the usual apologies. Every word she threw at me was dissolved into the wine. I couldn’t keep up with the pace of her argument and I couldn’t take her seriously. At one point she said that she was thinking of leaving me. I replied by alternately winking and smiling, deciding that she wasn’t angry and that I was there to seduce her. The biggest travesty of alcohol was that you couldn’t transplant your world view and that you couldn’t always explain it. By the time we left the bar, I was reduced to a few syllables.     

‘James, we need to sober you up, do you want to go to a restaurant?’

‘Yep.’

She left her seat and stood me up. I linked her forearm, pushing down on it for support. We walked in silence through the street. It felt like we were walking very quickly for a lot of journey. Alice ignored my protests to slow down.

‘Let’s get in here James.’

I looked up at the neon sign. ‘Mr Fishy’.

‘This isn’t a restaurant. It’s a chip shop.’

‘Yeah, actually James, you’re right. We’ll forget the chip shop and go for a taster menu. You fucking moron!’

I said nothing else and we walked inside. It had lots of seats and I was shown to one. Alice left me and ordered from somewhere. I didn’t like this, the room swirling and throbbing in her absence. When she came back I needed the toilet. I told her and she pointed somewhere which felt vague. I walked over to an area with doors and pushed one of them. I entered the kitchen.

Inside there were two men. One was on all fours on the floor. He was resting on his forearms and his lower back was arching his arse into the air. On his top half he wore chef’s whites and on his bottom half he wore nothing. Another man was behind him wearing white gloves. His left knee rested on the floor whilst his right foot provided stability. His right hand pulled at a fish inside the other man’s arse. They stopped when they saw me.

‘Fuck me boys! What are you doing?!’

I closed the door behind me, feeling more sober than I had been in the last hour. The man with the fish in his arse answered me.

‘Sir, you need to leave the kitchen, this area isn’t for customers. If you need the gents, take the door on the right.’

‘What are you doing?’

The other man spoke this time.

‘Sir, the door for the toilet is on the right.’

‘Yeah, great, but what the fuck are you doing?! You’ve got a fish up your arse. Is this my food?!’

The man sighed and shook his head. He then pulled the fish out and stood up. He walked over to the batter, dipped the fish and then placed it in the fryer. He then opened the fridge door and pulled out another fish. He assumed the position I’d originally found him in, curled the fish into a tube and began to insert it. Once it had been consumed, he set a timer on his watch before bringing his attention back to me.

‘Look, sir, this is a professional environment which requires an intimate knowledge of food hygiene and safety regulations. You’re clearly inebriated and it is potentially unsafe for you to be in here. Please leave.’

I looked at him and did nothing. The buzzer went off and he sighed again. He began the process of removing the fish and fried it again. Both men then rose to their feet and the other man put his trousers back on.

‘Look sir…’

I walked back into the restaurant and sat with Alice, feeling completely different from when I’d left.

‘Alice, we need to leave.’

‘You sound a little clearer, were you sick?’

‘We need to leave.’

‘Look, if you don’t want to eat, that’s fine, but I am hungry. We’ll eat here and then go back to mine. You can eat there if you change your mind.’

I realised that explaining this would be difficult.

‘Look Alice. I didn’t piss. I walked into the kitchen by mistake. The chefs were putting our fish up their arse and then frying it. It’s not clean.’

‘What?’

Alice turned around and looked at the kitchen door, as if it would somehow confirm my claims.

‘Look, this happened and we can’t eat here.’

‘Are you joking?’

I gripped her hands in the centre of the table and widened my eyes.

‘Alice. I’m absolutely fucked but you need to believe me. If you eat the fish, it’s been in a man’s arse. Don’t eat it.’

She narrowed her eyes a little and moved them to focus on an empty table. Alice then got out of her seat and walked towards the kitchen. I followed behind, wanting to see the spectacle again, feeling that I had more to learn.

Alice stopped at the door and waited for me to stand next to her. When I arrived she pushed the door open. The chefs were in the same position as before, however, the man behind was holding a tea pot, the spout half inside his co-worker’s arse.

‘Sir and Madame, please leave the kitchen. We are working!’

I realised that I was still very drunk when Alice was able to articulate her disgust in a more human way.

‘Goodness me! What on earth are you doing?! This is not hygienic in any way! You have paying customers and this is how you treat them! You absolutely cannot make customers drink something which has been inside a man’s arse! This place should be shut down!’

Alice pulled her phone out of her pocket and began filming. One of the men sighed and they continued with their work. The pot of tea was completely poured into the man’s colon before the timing began. The buzzer went off and the man squatted over the top of the teapot allowing it to be refilled. The lid was placed on top and the pot was placed on the tray next to the two plates of fish and chips. One man then picked up the tray and walked passed us into the restaurant. He placed the food down where we were sat. Alice and I walked over to it.

‘We are not eating that! You’re disgusting and you’ll be closed down with this video!’

‘You need to pay us then.’

‘What?!’

‘You need to pay. Ralph! Ralph!’

The penetrated man walked out of the kitchen, his bottom half naked.

‘They won’t pay Ralphy!’

‘Oh they will!’

Ralph reached his right hand around to his arse and began to pull out a long metal pipe. Alice continued.

‘What is this?! You’re mad! You can’t do this to people!’

The man winced as the pipe became wider and revealed itself as the handle of a shotgun. Ralph then threw the shotgun to the other chef who pointed the barrel at Alice. Alice looked down the pipe and at the eyes of both men before pulling out a twenty pound note, placing it on the table. The man picked up the note and lowered the gun. Both men then returned to the kitchen. We left the restaurant and walked home in silence.

Inside her flat Alice began to cry and we spent an hour trying to rationalise what we’d seen. We both became very drunk and only slept when we were certain enough that the booze had guaranteed it. The next day we woke up and Alice sent the footage to the local press. It was published and the video was watched millions of times. The men were arrested and the place was shut down.