Get Shamu

Of all killer whales, Shamu is one of them. Yet she is the most notable and iconic killer whale, and for reasons I can not disclose, I must kill her. I have to put a stop to her murderous ways. How many more fish, penguins, and seagulls must die because of her kind? Fish are delicious (and yes, I realize I only want to save fish from being killed by Shamu so that others can kill them and put them on my dinner plate). Who doesn’t like penguins? And who will poop on beachgoers if the seagulls are wiped out? Not me.

Not that Shamu seems like a cold-hearted killer (though not cold-blooded; whales are warm-blooded, sea-dwelling mammals). Sure, they look magnificent as they soar out of the deep blue water and into our air, the land-dwellers’ air. But beneath that facade is the ugly part, the part they don’t show you in the movies, the shows, the pictures. The murderer. The killer. And why do they steal our air while they swim about and live in the ocean? Why don’t they just evolve feet and opposable thumbs like us humans and live in the same place they draw their oxygen from? Because they’re assholes, that’s why.

Last fall, my family decided to hold the Annual Family Vacation in Orlando. This is my chance, I thought. Oh mother and father dearest, may we pleeeeease go to Sea World? I want nothing more than to see the spectacular killer whale show!

“Fine, dammit, we’ll go to Sea World. And stop talking like that.”

I waited and waited until the time came for Florida. We arrived in Orlando on Saturday, and we would be visiting Sea World on Wednesday. This would give me ample time to prepare for my attack and possibly enlist allies to my cause. My little brother, Ricky, and his girlfriend Gina were the most likely of all my family to help. My twin, Stephen, who has started his own well-written blog, is a native of Orlando. As he resides near the home of Shamu, I could not in good conscience put his life in danger. Ricky and Gina, however, were expendable. They were also the most convenient to attempt to enlist; the three of us drove together to Orlando, and I had 12 whole hours to convince them of the atrocities Shamu is responsible for and that she should be brought to justice.

I think I convinced Gina. She seemed to be excited about my goals. Ricky, however, was less than enthusiastic. Halfway through the trip, as I continued my presentation about the Evil Whale, Ricky turned up the stereo to ear-splitting levels and I saw him mouth “fuck off.”

I prepared for my Sea World visit the day before by going on a casino cruise with the rest of my family. The cruise ship takes off from Port Canaveral to international waters, where they can activate the slot machines and the dealers can begin the games. I would have preferred the evening cruise, but being my family is getting older, we went in the morning with the geriatric crowd. I sat at a $5 roulette table and got $50 in chips. I sat next to an old man, and tried to make conversation.

“You like Shamu?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna kill her tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“You like whale steak? I can get you enough to last the rest of your short, miserable, hearing-impaired life.”

“28.”

He gave me $40 in five dollar chips to put on 28. I put one chip on 28 and pocketed the rest. More resources for my mission.

I left the boat minus $120 dollars, not as much as I was expecting. It was a good omen. Tomorrow would be a glorious day. A day to be remembered.

The next morning I woke up, showered, dressed, and was off to Sea World.  I discussed my plan with Gina.

“I figure we can sneak in to Shamu Stadium, avoiding the trainers, take a giant harpoon to Shamu’s face.  Then we can commandeer a couple paddle boats, tie Shamu to them, and paddle away across the lake to safety.”

“Killer whales are heavy.  We might need more paddle boats.”

“You’re right.  Better make it three.”

We walked into the front entrance, the Gates of Hell.  Me, Gina, Ricky, Steve, and my parents were together, while Aunt Karen, Uncle Gary, and cousin Meghan were elsewhere in the park.  Sea World Orlando is like most other large theme parks.   Masses of people, screaming children, slow-moving tourists.  Over-priced souvenirs.  Shows.  Rides.  But this one was different.  Within this park lurked my white (and black) whale.

Our first detour was to the dolphin nursery, where mothers and their calves can swim peacefully.  Enlisting their aid would be out of the question.  Not only do they have more pressing concerns, they would not be sympathetic to my cause.  They, too, are just like whales, but smaller, and more camera-friendly.  They also breathe air, but live in the water.  They may already be on Shamu’s side.

Ricky turns to me and says, “So how are you going to kill Shamu?

“GODDAMMIT RICKY, DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?  THESE ANIMALS ARE ON HER SIDE!  YOU’VE RATTED US OUT!  THEY’VE HEARD YOU!  HER LACKEYS HAVE HEARD YOU!  SHE KNOWS NOW!  SHE KNOWS!”

After this colossal screw-up, stealth was not an option.  My only recourse was a full-on frontal assault.  I still had to lay low though.  Maybe the dolphins were too busy with their calves to hear me.  Maybe they thought we were joking.  I had to observe for a while and see if my little brother’s error would prove fatal to my mission.

We walked along the path to see the Sea Lion vs. Sea Otter show.  Shopkeepers, custodians, ride attendants, all glanced at me as I walked by.  I tried to not to make eye contact with them.  Were they on to me?  Were they looking at me with suspicion, or was it just a bit of grape jelly on my cheek from my sandwich this morning?

Consider the warning level raised to cautiously optimistic.

While sitting in the stadium waiting for the show to start, I overheard a staff member talking to another.

“Did you hear about the retarded man–Gary something–who got into the dolphin tank and was mauled until he was half-dead?  Man that was intense.”

“Hate to be the one who has to clean that up.”

That retarded man was probably my uncle.  The dolphins had gotten to him.

Consider the warning level raised to very concerned.

The show was disappointing.  I had expected a battle to the death between a sea lion and a sea otter, but apparently it’s not a “vs.” in the name of the show; it was an “and.”  It was a comical show, with both animals doing tricks in the context of some plot.  However, towards the end of the show, the script called for a giant walrus to come out and perform.  Before it did any of its tricks, it picked me out from the thousand-plus in the audience and glared.  It glared with hate in its eyes.  It took the fish the trainers gave, but what it really wanted was to tear through my flesh and gnaw on my bones.  It growled at me.

They knew.

They all knew.

Consider the warning level raised to trembling fear.

If the giant walrus staredown was a show of force and intimidation, then it worked.  I realized, at this point, that I could not do this alone.  I would have to enlist allies other than Gina.  We made our way to the penguin exhibit.  Penguins are a favorite dish for killer whales.  Perhaps I could gain their trust and their allegiance.

What I failed to consider was the fact that penguins are incredibly stupid.  The penguins are held captive in a soundproof cell.  I tried to use hand motions and written signs to convey my message, but they simply waddled about and jumped in water.  I also failed to consider that penguins can’t read.  I have a feeling they were already loyal to someone else, someone more interested in vanquishing bats than killer whales.

There would be no help from anyone other than me.  I needed a new plan.  I needed time to think.

“Let’s go see the Shamu show!”

Damn!  I couldn’t say no.  I couldn’t let the rest of my family in on my plan.  I would not have their support.  But I had to go with them straight into the belly of the beast.  I would have to improvise.

I began to sweat as I took my seat in Shamu Stadium, waiting for the show to start, waiting for an opening.  A trainer walked out and explained that the start of the show had to be delayed because the whales were having what she called “social issues.”  I knew the real reason.  The whales were conspiring against me.  Somehow they knew I was in the stands.  They were plotting my demise.  Would I be splashed with water so hard I would be decapitated?  Would one of them jump out of the water and crush me?  Would they coax one of the trainers with their telepathy to pick me as a volunteer for the show, then have some “accident” occur where I would drown and be eaten?

Consider the warning level raised to “I’m fucked.”

Throughout the show, the whales eyed me.  I knew I couldn’t hide from them.  They knew exactly where I was in the stands.  Amid the admiration expressed by everyone around me, my fear stood out like blood in a shark tank.  The feeding frenzy would start any moment now.

And then the show was over.  Had they really known I was there?  Did they really know about my mission?  Or did they know, and yet allowed me to live?  I was dumbfounded, yet fortunate.  I was backed into a corner, no hope, and they let me live.  As I walked out of the arena, I caught Shamu looking sternly at me from the water.  I understood that I had to leave Sea World immediately, and vow never to return again (though I also understood that I could ride the Kraken first, and then leave immediately).  She would kill me if I did.

As we were leaving the park that evening, we stopped and looked at the stingray tank.  They glide through the water effortlessly.  Miniature versions of majestic, fictional spaceships.  A stingray’s first reaction to possible threats is to simply swim away.  If further provoked and backed into a wall, then it will pierce you with its stinger, which can be fatal.  Beneath its glorious surface lies the face of a killer.  One of earth’s beautiful, terrible creatures.  Perhaps I could learn from the stingray.  Though capable of horrible things, when confronted with possible danger, it simply swims away.  It lets things be, only fighting when it absolutely must.  Maybe I shouldn’t feel threatened by Shamu.  Maybe that’s what Shamu was trying to teach me.  Just because we’re different doesn’t mean we have to fight.

Or maybe I really want some Shamu steaks.  And maybe the stingrays will be a very useful ally, one that I had not considered before.  Perhaps, Shamu, your mercy will be the death of you.

I walked out of Sea World with new resolve, ignoring the dolphins’ concerned faces.