Fly Fishermen, there’s one born every minute

It should come as no surprise that despite my antisocial behavior – my fondness for bathroom humor, my shortcomings of hygiene and as an angler, I am a middle manager of little distinction.

While my peers are hiring sub-20 year olds that giggle a lot and show acres of leg, I’m the curmudgeonly sort that violates all the important federal statutes on hiring and discrimination by selecting anglers only …

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Question 7) List the fourteen steps of the Software Development Lifecycle in alphabetical order, backwards and in Klingon, or the classic dressing for an Ausable Wulff.

Question 8) Where do you see yourself in five years, and if there are big fish there, would you tell me?

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Mostly because world dominance starts with a steady job, and the only employees instinctively punctual are fishermen.

… because you don’t tell a fellow you’ll pick him up on some darkened street corner at 0530 and arrive late …

As with all my new hires there’s that rough patch where we get from angler to f-l-y  f-i-s-h-e-r-m-a-n. Not because I’m some kind of evangelical prick – so much as we can communicate fully. Both of us can use the same language, one of naked greed and accumulation.

So I’m delivering The Sermon, “… you won’t mind that rods cost a thousand dollars and waders are eight hundred … “ – when I’m brutally interrupted by a look of outright scorn and that 80’s standby, “…whatchoo talking bout, Willis!”

I realize that it’s not simply sticker shock, my new pal has already been introduced to the snooty form of fly fishing and been sorely used. Ascots, smoking jackets, and someone that insisted all other forms of fishing were unworthy.

To overcome this additional fear I’ll need to adopt that extra-soothing quality in my voice – that silky tone that has you checking your wallet and hindquarters for fear someone has his hand there …

“ … and flies are about the same as top-water plugs or swim baits, and all the really good bass fodder like Scented Flame-tailed Purple worms with the Gelatinous sparkly stuff have a fly fishing equivalent …”

And as my newfound pal is lulled into thoughts of warmth and safety, he mentions that along with his new Bass kayak he’s bought, he  just plunked down fifty bucks for an airbrushed, broken-back rainbow trout plug that he hasn’t dared try because he’s scared he might snag something and lose it …

Which throws me into a fit of cost-concious outrage, “Fifty Bucks, FIFTY BUCKS? forasinglefugginbassPLUG? Fifty gotdamned dollars for six ounces of balsa and a few Korean trebles?, OhMyFugginGawd, that’s simply insane – does your wife know about that (and does she have a sister that’s equally gullible?)…”

Which simply proves any perceived gulf between types of fishermen is utter BS, there’s one of us born every minute.