Big Mouth Billy Bass

A couple friends of mine have been doing this thing where they choose a phrase and write 1500 words of fiction about it. They're Art Pansy types, so I guess it's some sort of writing exercise. I don't know what the point of it is. Keeps their juices flowing, I guess. Anyway, I was bored, so I joined in on their last exercise, the phrase for which was "largemouth bass." Here's my story.


Big Mouth Billy Bass

I met him when he was in full-on manic mode, though I didn’t know that. He flew into the restaurant where I waitressed, a whirlwind of energy, laughter, and most of all, charisma. Yes, he was the most charismatic man I had ever met. I overheard some of the conversation he was having with the suit as I served him his Deluxe Combo – an enormous grade A beef burger with all the fixins, a side of Kickin’ Kajun fries, and your choice of Auntie’s Apple Pie or the Chocolate Lava Cake, all for the amazingly low price of $7.99! He chose the chocolate cake. I didn’t catch it all, but he was outlining some sort of business plan for the suit. He was extremely enthusiastic and by the end of the lunch, the suit seemed sold. He must have had another important meeting because by the time I came back with the bill, only Jay was sitting at the table. After chatting me up a bit, he left me a huge tip and his phone number. He didn’t really seem like my type – a little too loud, a little too arrogant – but he was intense. And who am I kidding? I needed intensity in my life. Just that morning, I had looked in the mirror and said to my reflection, “Honey, you need some excitement to break up all this monotony,” so I went with the blue eye shadow instead of the usual none. Talk about foreshadowing. After some coaxing, I agreed to a date. I know, I know. I don’t usually date strangers. You never end up with what you bargained for.

I met him for dinner at Amadio’s, my favorite Italian restaurant. He wanted to pick me up, but I graciously declined. I may be dumb enough to take chances on dating strangers, but I’m certainly not dumb enough to let them know where I live. Amadio’s has the most delicious mushroom lasagna in the entire state, but don’t tell my mother that. Plus I’m friends with the owner, so I like to take first dates there, you know, just in case. Jay flew into the parking lot fifteen minutes late in a bright red shiny sports car. He strode confidently across the restaurant to my special table. Everything he does can only be described as confident. I’m not exaggerating when I say that every single one of the restaurant’s patrons noticed and admired his entrance, and then noticed me with what I like to think of as pangs of jealousy.

He was already talking before he sat down. And he kept talking. I only got him to shut up long enough to order our meals. It was a remarkably boring date with a remarkably interesting man. Strange combination, I know. He was interesting, it’s just, well, you can only listen to someone talking about themselves for so long.

After I finished my lasagna, I tried to excuse myself from his company by claiming exhaustion due to a long day at work. I was already planning my favorite pajamas, an old black-and-white movie, and a bowl of ice cream to finish of my evening. But Jay would have none of it. He practically begged me to do something “fun” with him; he said he had a surprise for me. When my skepticism visibly registered on my face, he laughed and guaranteed me that his intentions were pure and he just had a lot of energy to burn off. I briefly envisioned him burning off his excess energy by chopping up my body into little bits in the kitchen of his (no doubt) gorgeously modern bachelor’s condo. I have an overactive imagination and an inherent distrust of men. But after he convinced me of his innocent intentions to have “good old-fashioned fun” and I convinced myself that my little scenario wouldn’t happen because, let’s face it, I’m not special enough and my life is not interesting enough for something like that to happen to me, we left Amadio’s together. His charm is irresistible – any girl would have done the same.

As I walked toward my little old Honda, his face fell. Against my better judgment, he managed to convince me that a spin in his flashy car would make the night more interesting. Maybe all these poor judgment calls could be explained by the voice in my head that kept saying, “You’re so boring. You never do anything fun.” Maybe they could be explained by the glass of wine I had while waiting for Jay to arrive. Who knows.

Whatever my motives, I did have fun. I now have a slight bit more understanding of why people blow all their money on fancy little sports cars. We blew threw town, cruising the streets and showing off. He talked a mile a minute about all the things we could do that night. Every time he found the “perfect idea!” it would soon be replaced by a new “perfect idea!” Until he saw it. He almost gave me a heart attack when he screamed, “A largemouth bass! Whoa! I have to have that!” When I realized what he was talking about, I nearly choked trying to stifle my laughter. He had spotted one of those awfully gaudy Big Mouth Billy Bass singing fish plaques that you mount up on your wall so that every time you walk by it, it belts some annoyingly mechanic, awfully punning song. It was in the storefront window of a nearby shop, which looked like it was about to close. But Jay had to have it.

By the time we parked and walked around to the shop, the owner was just closing up. Jay, with his irresistible charm, kindly explained to the store owner that he desperately needed the store to stay open for a few more minutes, and that he knew what he wanted and would be just a minute. The poor man looked at me, completely puzzled, but I just shrugged. Jay went on to explain that he just wanted to buy the Big Mouth Billy Bass. The owner informed him that another customer had just bought his last one. Jay went from nice and sweet high-energy to explosively angry high-energy in two seconds flat. Though Jay’s swift change in demeanor scared me, I did wonder for a fleeting second who the hell bought a Big Mouth Billy Bass at nine o’clock on a Friday night? Who the hell bought a Big Mouth Billy Bass? And then I remembered the guy standing next to me, who was still cursing the poor store owner. I pulled Jay away by the sleeve and half-dragged him back to the car, allowing the puzzled store owner to make his escape. On our walk back, he continued to let flow a stream of curse words, which I thought was a little uncalled-for, considering the fact that the Big Mouth Billy Bass is quite possibly the stupidest home decoration in the entire world.

As we walked across the parking lot, Jay noticed a man a few spots away loading something into the trunk of his beat-up Oldsmobile. I couldn’t make out what the something was, but apparently Jay, in all his Big Mouth Billy Bass rage, did. He stormed over to the man to hassle him about his purchase. Jay made it to the Oldsmobile just as the customer closed his door. I watched as Jay screamed at him through his busted window. I remember the phrases “worldwide conspiracy against me” and “you don’t even deserve a Big Mouth Billy Bass.” The offending customer, with his torn tanktop and Confederate flag vanity plate, mustered up all his contempt for the handsome, well-dressed man screaming in his face, and gave him a resounding, “Whatever, dude,” before pealing out of the parking lot.

Jay stormed back over to me and snapped, “Get in the car.” I quickly got in because being stuck in a car with a crazy man is one thing, but being stuck alone in a deserted parking lot off Grimes Street is quite another. I turned to him and began my spiel: “So can you take me back to my car now? I mean, this has been fun and all, but I’m really tired now. And I have to be up early for… church… tomorrow.”
“Yeah sure, but after I get my Big Mouth Billy Bass,” he replied.
“Are you serious, Jay? It’s just a fish. Let it go.”

When he braked hard for a stoplight, I recognized the car in front of us – the same beat-up Oldsmobile with a busted window. My disbelief manifested in my jaw dropping and my mouth forming a little “o.” O for Oh my God, this guy is insane.

“Listen, Jay. I’ll just get out here and call a cab or something. You can go on your little quest on your own. I think I’m done.” I started to open the door, but before I could, the light changed, and Jay slammed the gas. The Oldsmobile did not move as quickly, and we bounced off his bumper. When the offending customer looked in the rearview mirror and recognized Jay and his apoplectic fury, he floored it with a huge engine rev. Within seconds, we were racing down the street, chasing after the Oldsmobile. Although I was terrified of the lunatic sitting next to me, the hilarity of my little scenario did not elude me. I was involved in a high-speed chase over a Big Mouth Billy Bass. Absolutely ridiculous.

The chase lasted only a few blocks, but it seemed like I fearfully clutched the door handle for ages. The offending customer was apparently inexperienced in the world of drag-racing and high-speed chases. Maybe he was undeserving of the Big Mouth Billy Bass, as Jay had charged. The offending customer braked hard to avoid colliding into a minivan that was legally crossing the intersection that he was very illegally flying through. He fishtailed just in time for Jay to fly through the intersection and slam into the driver’s side of the Oldsmobile straight on.
I sat frozen in the car, shocked that my Friday night had ended like this when it could have just ended with Gregory Peck. After another eternity, I climbed out of the car and surveyed the damage.

Luckily, I managed to escape with only bruises across my chest where the seatbelt had locked up on impact. Jay managed to escape with a minor concussion and a jail sentence, which I could guess will only make him crazier. Big Mouth Billy Bass escaped in one piece, though it was annoyingly stuck on a too-deeply-toned endless loop of “Dooonnn’t Wooorrrryyy.” Bob Marley probably turned over in his grave that night. The offending customer barely escaped with his life. He was in the hospital for a week. I guess he learned his lesson about snatching a Big Mouth Billy Bass from underneath a lunatic’s nose. And I learned a lesson that my mother tried to teach me when I was in preschool: never get into a car with a stranger. Especially an overly charismatic, energetic, manic, narcissistic stranger.