Tony thought the night was going well. The kids had pretty much settled down now and seemed to be conking out. Sweet. He had been a regular visitor here more than a few times over the years, but it was a different story to be in an aquarium after hours. At least the penguins also were long past asleep. With the house lights turned down very low, most of the main hallways were covered in semi-orderly rows of quiet sleeping bags, with clusters of larger groups with the penguins, and the shark tank.
“Hey, man, we did it,’ said, uh, was this guy’s name? Betty’s husband kept making small talk for a while, but Tony’s mood was unflappable. He had pulled off the perfect class excursion, and even Evie had said in passing that this was fun. A fourteen year old daughter said that to her old man, man.
His stomach gurgled, and he realized for the first time that he had been way too busy in chaperone mode to eat dinner. Tony said, “Dude, tell me there is pizza left.”
“Are you kidding? I thought they were going to eat the parm packets and ranch tubs straight up, man. I shit you not, we are out of salad.”
“You are for real?”
“Aw, man, did they forget to feed you? Naw, the pizza is gone, but I know these vultures. I have three boys. I set aside some of the cold cuts in the employee kitchen. Us dad’s have to stick together. There’s probably beer left in the fridge, unless Mac is still awake.” He looked out over the view from this balcony, two clusters of sleeping students nearby and everyone else below, including the penguins four floors down. “It’s cool, man. It might be time to climb into my cot soon, too. Save me a brewski!”
“Would you be quiet! Yes, I need a sandwich!” said Tony. He stormed off, quietly, and found the Employees Only door with a printout of their school logo affixed by cellophane tape. The other side of that door was much darker, but theoretically devoid of sleeping teenagers, and therefore Tony was able to catch his breath. He patted the door he had just closed. For a brief moment, it felt as if all of his problems were on the other side.
The dimly lit hallway had a closed door on the right side, an open door with flickering low fluorescent lights, and the fetid stench crawling from directly ahead that indicated one particular everyday employee use of one sort of room might have overloaded the system. Tony turned left.
The kitchen was a study of blue shades of light playing across rows of bare stainless steel surfaces that had been cleaned meticulously. The room smelled vaguely like fish, unsettling for an aquarium. He approached a wall of industrial refrigerators and opened the door with another flyer of his school’s logo taped on front. Betty’s husband did not suck, after all! A platter of leftovers from the night’s sandwich station had been purloined and stashed here, next to three soda cans and five light beers. Tony pulled the plastic tray out of the fridge and placed it on the nearest counter surface. He turned back around, thought for a moment, selected an orange soda, and closed the fridge door.
Tony turned back around and the hairs on the back of his neck rose as a shiver went down his spine. He shook off the sinking suspicion that he was not alone in this kitchen and laid out a paper towel on the counter. He selected a slice of pumpernickel and a slice of wheat from the remaining pile, and frowned down at the condiment offerings. He opened the few drawers, those that were unlocked, but found no utensils, and there was nothing of the sort on this platter from catering. He sighed and selected two plastic packets. Tony drew a smiley face on the pumpernickel with mustard and a frowny face with mayo on the wheat slice. He stacked random meats and cheeses on the mayo face, before assembling everything.
He shook his head at the inability to cleave this sandwich in two. Tony turned around, deciding to go for beer. When he turned back, he said, “Eeeeeeeeeee, oh it’s you.”
A three foot long blade shaped like a meat cleaver was floating in mid-air, about head height, in the middle of the kitchen. It looked exceptionally sharp. A disembodied voice answered, “Hello, Tony. I am sorry if I startled you.”
Tony laughed and popped the beer can before taking a few deep swigs. He wiped his upper lip and said, “Nah, light footsteps, right?” He laughed again.
The knife nodded forward a few times in the air. “I am afraid so.”
Tony looked at the kitchen door, now slightly ajar. He said, “What brings you back here?”
“A group of mothers kept staring.”
“Your youngest two are down near the jellyfish, right? I am sure they are fine.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.” Tony looked at his makeshift sandwich. “Hey, buddy, if this is not a personal insult, do you mind helping a guy out?” He chopped over the pumpernickel top with his left hand.
“No problem, friend.” The floating cleaver reared up and sliced down as Tony took another swig. His sandwich was cut neatly in two pieces, as was the paper towel, and the stainless steel table underneath. Everything collapsed inward suddenly, sending an orange soda can rolling under the fridges.
Tony looked down, to see that he had somehow darted his left hand forward, against normal self-preservation instincts, and had caught half a sandwich on its way down. He took a bite, and washed it down with more beer. “Close enough!” he said. “And, uh, we were never here.”
I was once given the nickname “Rick the Knife” under mysterious circumstances, during a corporate holiday party at a local aquarium in the far histories of the Internet, my friends, like you used to do. I suppose they must still rent the place out for events from time to time.