As of today, we have processed 10 million pounds of cod. That’s a lot of cod. Stinky, slimy cod. Surprisingly, fried cod was on the lunch menu the other day and I ate it with just as much pleasure and tartar sauce as usual.
At this point of the fish-processing season, the boat is abuzz with guesses of when we’ll start sailing home. The people in charge said we will probably process about 7 million more pounds, which means approximately four weeks.
I consider this to be good news. It’s just enough time to make the money I need, but not too much time. The physical and mental strain of throwing around and tearing apart cod for 14 hours every day (That’s every day. Weekends aren’t a thing.) wears on you and really reduces you down to the bare stuff you’re made of. For me, I’ve been reduced to a fever, a lingering cold/cough and a pulled muscle in my back. I told my boss the other day (he’s 23), “I’m falling apart. Man, you hit 26 and it’s all over.” But, I’m fairly certain it’s just the whole 90-hour work week thing.