I was attacked by a fish today.

Well, not quite — but it was a close call. Not to make this another lunch rant, but I go down to the cafeteria to get something to eat, and almost run into a guy carrying a fish on his plate. Notice the article: He didn’t have a plate of fish. He had a fish. On a plate. Head, tail, fins, mouth and all. Which, as the guy stops short, leaps at me. I swear the thing had hatred in its eyes, and it possibly cursed me under its breath. (I don’t speak fish, only squirrel.)

When I got to the actual food line, trembling slightly from the attack, I was faced with a pot full of buttery water in which a dozen or so aquatic denizens floated. It was like coming back from a long vacation and remembering I hadn’t got anybody to tend the aquarium.

I know Hamburg’s a port and everything, but if I want to see a a shoal of fish looking like they were trying to remember what Mom said about hooks, I’ll go down to the fish market or something. I don’t need it in the cafeteria.