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The tale of Carlos the fish began on a lazy afternoon in the spring of '03. Megan Spillane offered to buy me a fish, and being the caring friend that I am, naturally I obliged. We made our way into the aquatic section of Petco and were greeted by friendly attendant Steve. We asked him where we could find the cheapest fish, which required the least maintenance, and had the longest life expectancy. After ranting about the inaccuracies of the aquarium scene in "Deuce Bigalo: Male Gigalo," Steve finally pointed us towards the tank filled with Buenos Aires Tetra. Being that these fish were from a Latin American country and their name sounded like a popular puzzle video game, this choice was no-brainer. Megan shelled out the 20 cents and we were on our way with two tetra in hand. After a few days in a regular kitchen bowl, the two fish received a standard fish bowl and this is where Carlos defined himself as a true survivor. Carlos decided that the bowl was only big enough for one fish and took it upon himself to end the life of his mate. Carlos bit off his friend's fins, making him unable to swim. His friend just flopped around the top of the bowl, much like the drunk fish in Super Mario World, and we decided it was best to put him out of his misery. Yes, Carlos had won the first battle, but he had not yet won the war. This was just the first of the many trials and tribulations that Carlos would face over the next year. Young hell-raisers Stevie Collins and Adam Gager made their way to the Holt basement and when they saw Carlos their eyes lit up like it was Christmas. Stevie decided it was a good idea to pour Mountain Dew into Carlos's bowl and then Adam tried to stab Carlos with a pen, connecting on multiple occasions. Carlos survived these repeated attacks, but his biggest test of courage came one weekend in late March when a rambunctious Jacob Kriegler decided it would be a good idea to bring a full bottle of vodka to my basement and drink most of it by himself. This was all well and good until he made an inebriated reach for the refrigerator, and in doing so, knocked Carlos off of the edge of the desk that he was sitting on. The bowl tumbled through the air, sending water everywhere, and Jacob toppled as well, landing right in the water. Miraculously, Carlos survived this drunken attack by some sort of miracle, as he did not even fall out of his bowl as it tumbled to the floor. After the incident, Jacob was quoted as saying, "I stepped in fish food," and then he went home and passed out. We will never know exactly what was meant by this, but what I can tell you is that truer words have never been spoken. That incident earned Jacob the nickname "Sloopy Moopy" and earned Carlos the respect in the fish community that he held for the rest of his life. That summer, when we went to the Adirondacks for a week, I made the blunder of letting Boston Nyer look after Carlos. Little did I know, Boston's bully of an older brother, Seth, had a carnivorous fish that lived in a bottle of Captain Morgan's filled with water. Seth tried to pit his fish against Carlos, but luckily Boston prevented this from happening and when I returned Carlos was still alive and well. Dan Grunspan made a few feeble attempts to eat him, but after surviving these, Carlos had somehow survived the summer before college. We packed Carlos up in a plastic bag in the crowded trunk of the Volvo station wagon and made the trip out to South Bend, Indiana. When we arrived I transfered Carlos from the bag to his bowl and placed him on my window sill overlooking the lawn of St. Edward's Hall. This is what Carlos would call home for the next few months. The brutal sun of the Indiana summer radiated down on Carlos and you could see the pain in his eyes day after day. Algae began to form in his bowl and his daily feedings turned into weekly feedings, but Carlos survived the first few months of school. Over October break I made the mistake of leaving him on Greg Peters's desk, because his roommate was staying in Notre Dame for the break and could feed him. When I returned, Carlos looked like he had gone through hell, but he was still alive and ready to go back to his sill. He survived the beginnings of a harsh South Bend winter and before I knew it, it was time to go home for Christmas break. No one was staying in the dorm, so I had to bring Carlos along with me on the long train ride back to Rochester. Thanks to Nate Stober, Carlos had a zip-lock bag to live in during the journey. As I slept on the train, Carlos sat unattended on the floor of the train, vulnerable to attack by the many hobos also making the trip, but when the conductor called out "Rochester!" I picked up the bag and there was Carlos, swimming around like nothing was wrong. Over Christmas break Carlos went back to his worst nightmare, the basement. Once again, soda was poured in his bowl and he was bombarded with Terrell Davis action figures and Chewbacca pez dispensors. When it was time to go back to school, I put Carlos in a zip-lock bag and boarded the train once again. During the night, his bag somehow sprung a leak and his water level was down to about an inch and my Calc I notes were soaking wet. He survived though, and was returned to his bowl on the window sill, ready to brave a new semester. Things were going well: he had a new background picture of an underwater level in Mario 3, I was feeding him regularly. Yep, Carlos had never looked happier. On the morning of February 26th, Greg Peters remarked on how dirty Carlos's bowl was getting. I agreed that it was time for a cleaning so I grabbed my trusty Chicago Cubs mini-helmet, filled it with water and put Carlos in there while I cleaned his bowl. Unfortunately, the Cubs helmet had had some laundry detergent spilled in it earlier in the morning. I noticed the suds forming around Carlos and tried to transfer him back to fresh water, but it was too late. Carlos lay at the top of the water motionless. After all he had been through, it just took a few minutes in detergent-filled water to kill him. Carlos lived a good life, and he will be missed by all frequenters of 205 St. Ed's and the Holt basement. |
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