“Oh, boy!” I said to myself. “At last, it’s mine!”
It took me eight months to obtain. I had to put my name on a waiting list and let the man behind the counter roam through my credit cards at will to ensure that I was the fine, morally correct person I had claimed to be. Fortunately for me, I was. Hiding it under my coat, I snuck it home, glancing furtively from side to side to see it I was being followed.
I got home, laughing with maniacal glee. Ghostbusters, the video cassette, was mine! For the entire weekend!
I rushed down to the television and put the tape on.
The various machines started to glow and/or hum. The screen crackled, and a fish tank appeared. I had seen Ghostbusters in the theatre, so I was pretty sure that it didn’t begin with a close-up of a fish tank, and I assumed that it was a funny short of some kind, and that the feature would start soon.
A couple of minutes later, I became apprehensive. I was watching a goldfish swimming lazily around a big tank. If this was some kind of conceptual video, I wasn’t getting it. I’m not exactly sure when it finally dawned on me that I wasn’t going to see Ghostbusters, but I was very angry when it did.
“No!” I shouted. “This can’t be true! This can’t be happening to me!” After several minutes, I started sobbing: “Why me? Why me?” Then, I thought, “Alright. It’s not too late. I’ll go back and make a deal…yeah, that’s it. I’ll offer him lots of money…my first born…anything!” I got a grip on myself. “It’s no good,” I was finally able to admit. “I’m stuck with this tape for the entire weekend…”
And, still, that damn fish swam.
I decided that if I was stuck with the tape, I would enjoy it. After all, the thing had set me back $2.98 (plus applicable taxes). I stared at the tank. Hard. The water was clear, with a hint of blue. There were rocks on the bottom. There was a small green thing, possibly a plant, next to a plastic structure that looked like underwater stucco. And, of course, there was the goldfish.
My mind wandered. I remembered the dream I had had the night before. I was standing on a crowded subway platform, and saw a friend of mine head for the door of a train. I couldn’t stop him, and I couldn’t get on. So, I went to the upper platform and found that I was in the River Station. Only, there is no River Station in this city.
So, I found myself in the country. Tom Selleck was pulling some sort of cart down a small railway. He stopped at a field of high wheat because the tracks disappeared into it. He suggested that I join him inside. We both sang a Who song (possibly “Baba O’Riley”). I woke up.
I looked at the goldfish, moving effortlessly through the water. I thought about the movie I was supposed to be watching. I remembered the scenes in the hotel. I remembered Rick Moranis. I remembered all the different ghosts, and especially the finale. Great stuff.
Then, I looked at the tank. Then, I remembered all I could of the movie again. Then, I looked at the tank. Then, I rifled through my memories of the film for a third time. Then, I looked at my watch, and found that I had only been in front of the set for 25 minutes. Only 25 minutes! I thought, I went through the whole movie in my mind three times! How could it only have taken 25 minutes!
I found myself wondering what would happen if the fish died. Would it go belly up on the surface or sink to the bottom? How do fish die, anyway? I know they often get eaten by bigger fish, but that didn’t seem likely in this case unless a shark was hiding behind the stucco thing. Do they die of old age? Do they sometimes die of a broken heart? If so, do fish understand poetry?
A strange thought occurred to me: if the fish did die, would I be obligated to watch it for the duration of the tape? Another hour or more? Would that make this a snuff film? Maybe the fish wouldn’t really die – maybe it was just a special effect. Perhaps the fish had been trained to act dead. If the fish really did die, though, could I get my money back? Hey, just what kind of human being would tape a dead fish, anyway?
I shook my head and tried to collect my thoughts. This was not going well. I looked at the goldfish and…I thought I saw a figure in the tank with it. Blinking hard, I looked again, and, sure enough, saw Jacques Cousteau. No, it was Bill Murray with a snorkel. No…
I turned away. It didn’t help: little yellow fish were swimming around in my head. I shut my eyes, only to find goldfish on the back of my lids. I groped for the VCR and, punching wildly, hit the freeze frame. The goldfish stopped moving.
“What’s going on, here!” I cried. “What is this? Some sort of torture device? Have I accidentally stumbled onto some mind-numbing secret weapon? Could this be what the CIA did to Vitaly Yurchenko?”
With one last jab, I managed to turn the television set off. The picture faded from the screen, but it took many more minutes to fade from my mind. Who would want such a thing? I thought as I lay panting on the floor, trying to regain my strength. Probably the same people who advertised for Armenian weightlifters who are into smelt and heavy breathing in the personals columns. Uggh.
When I was able, I took the tape out of the VCR and looked it over. It said: “AMBIENCE TAPE: FISH TANK. Below this title were the instructions: “This tape is to be used for background. At home or in a busy office environment, it can make a nice visual break from the cares of the day. Simply insert, and let play while you go about your business, looking for a few seconds when you feel the need to get away. WARNING: prolonged exposure to this tape has caused boredom in laboratory rats.”
By my calculations, I had managed to sit through about 43 minutes of the tape. It may not sound like much, but it felt like an eternity to me. If you think you can do better, I’ll gladly give you the name of my video rental store.
All I know is, I’m going to have to wait another eight months to get the movie!