A fishy Fourth

Last night was one of the most surreal nights of my life. I worked in the Billingsgate Fish Market from 2am until 10am this morning, for research for our observation piece. How in the world did this happen, you ask? Well, my group has been to the market several times to observe, and on one of our visits we ended up talking to the "king of the market," a talkative fellow whose name is Roger, coincidentally. Just to give you an idea of this fellow: he wears a straw boater hat, a bluetooth earpiece, and a dagger in a sheath to cut open fish boxes. He soliloquized to us about fish, cooking, entertaining young ladies, the "good old days," the war, etc. etc. etc., and then offered for us to come work for him if we wanted. Of course we, being enterprising young bohemians, decided to take him up on it, so at 2:00 last night my classmate John Michael and I found ourselves at the market, being given white coats and assigned to one of Roger's employees to be shown how to do things. Just to give you an idea of the setting, Billingsgate is located in Canary Wharf, the classy business district of London, and its 70's era yellow warehouse structure is in stark comparison to the shiny glass skyscrapers that tower over it. As you approach the car park you hear seagulls wheeling overhead, the squeak of styrofoam, and the shouts of the burly porters who drag massive pallets of fish to the many stalls that are arranged in rows inside the building. Inside the building, the smell of thousands of live and dead sea creatures hits you, as you walk on the slippery green floor dodging men in white coats and wellies. Observing was one thing, but actually doing the job is another thing entirely. One of the first things I learned was how to pick up a sea bass: always by the head and the tail, otherwise you risk getting cut by the sharp dorsal fins. The cold, slippery fish were surprisingly pleasant to handle, I found, and their scent is still on my hands after half a dozen hand washings and a shower. While the market was setting up, I learned how to arrange fish on display, and how to weigh fish for bulk orders, put them in a styrofoam box, cover them with ice, and write the name of the buyer on the side with a bulky crayon. When the customers began to arrive, I was put in charge of selling the live crayfish, which kept making excursions out of their boxes and had to be frequently corraled; the snails, which were live, covered with mud and which sold for 2 pounds a kilo; the razor clams, which look like white tongues hanging out of their distinctive shells, and which will "lick" if you run your fingers over them; and the wild sea bass, selling for 7-10 pounds per kilo, depending on the size. In between all this, I was treated to the near-constant joking of the fishmongers, and even got to indulge in a bit of yelling and jokery myself. The workers were very forgiving, supplying us with information, coffee, and friendly advice such as "I've been working here for 30 years: it's a life sentence. Get out while you can!" As the market closed, we packed up the fish on ice, tried to sell the last dead lobsters for a bargain price, and were both paid 30 pounds in cash and sent home with about 300 pounds (money) worth of fish (which probably would have gone bad before the market re-opened on Tuesday). This included 250 pounds worth of the biggest shrimp I've ever seen, some a full foot long, a whole 2-kilo sea bass (ungutted), a gigantic swordfish steak, and several huge cod pieces. Thankfully, we're having a 4th of July celebration tonight, so after lugging all this fish back to John Michael's house, we spent about an hour cutting the hunks of fish up into managable portions and shelling the majority of the shrimp, which we're going to grill tonight. My hands are covered in tiny cuts from this activity: there's a lot more pointy bits on shrimp than you might imagine.
And that was my night! Believe it or not, I'm planning on going back to work there again at least once, since Roger told me that I'm welcome to come back if I want. There's something about the visceral, old-fashioned work (there's no till at Roger's stand, just a drawer full of money) that really speaks to me, and it feels nice to be doing something so practical and hands-on, especially after so much abstract theatrical work. So there it is, another job to put on the resume, and another really cool experience in London. And now, sleep. I'm hoping for fishy firework dreams. :)