Pushing It Until Something Snaps

My parents own a nice piece of property in a neighborhood in the suburbs. There is a quarter-acre pond on the property, and to be honest, it’s picturesque AF, mainly because my parents are amazing gardeners and keep everything looking great. It also sits down a small hill a little ways from the house. Throughout the years, we’ve had to chase away people fishing and kids playing. One, because it’s a liability, and two, because there are a ton of huge-a** snapping turtles. We have “no trespassing” and snapper warning signs, but I guess reading signs is for losers?

One night while I am in high school, I look out and see a man standing on the other side of the pond from the house, fishing. He’s about three feet past a “no trespassing” sign. I tell my dad, and he walks out to tell the guy to leave. Being a nosy teenager, I follow.

My dad stands up the hill from the pond and calls out:

Dad: “Excuse me! I need to ask you to leave.”

The guy turns and seeing my frankly short father just snorts.

Fisherman: “Yeah, no.”

Dad: “You are on private property and need to leave.”

Fisherman: “It’s not private property.”

My dad gestures to the signs, and the fisherman changes his tune.

Fisherman: “Yeah. Uh, right, the owner said I could fish here.”

My dad isn’t physically intimidating, but when he’s pissed, the vitriol in his voice is palpable. Usually, these exchanges are short, and the people are very apologetic. But this dude clearly wants to stay and doesn’t care what my dad says.

Dad: “I definitely didn’t tell you that. Get the f*** off my property!”

Fisherman: “WELL, I THOUGHT ANYONE COULD FISH HERE!”

Enter “S”. Who is S? S is a huge-a** f****** snapping turtle that is making its way out of the water with the fisherman’s line in its mouth. S, who is now hooked after attempting to eat the worm, is pissed. Neither my dad nor the fisherman have noticed as they are still arguing.

Dad: “Just leave my f****** yard!”

Fisherman: “F*** off!”

The fisherman is facing us, away from the water, but still holding the rod that S is using to floss his teeth. Finally, he gives up on being able to fish and jerks the rod to leave. It doesn’t move much, but it pisses S off even more. The fisherman turns to see what it is caught on and, instead of a rock, sees an angry prehistoric scrotum with teeth and kevlar meandering its way toward him.

My dad finally sees S and uses this moment to yell:

Dad: “THIS IS WHY YOU CAN’T FISH HERE, DUMBA**!”

The fisherman apparently didn’t want to lose the rod, and he tried to pull it toward himself as if it was a fish he could catch and release and not a demon mini dinosaur. This got S more pissed off, and it lunged, biting the fisherman’s leg. There was blood everywhere, and we had to call an ambulance. He ended up getting some infection and dying like a month later. We made a pen for S, and now he has a little family.

Nah, I’m kidding. The fisherman dropped the rod and scrambled up the hill to his car while my dad laughed. My dad then went down, cut the line, and ushered S into a trap to be rehomed out where kids, dogs, and dumba**es wouldn’t accidentally run into him.

The dragging-heels entitlement still baffles me to this day. If the guy had apologized and been kind, my dad would have geeked out about fishing rods with him. Instead, he lost an apparently nice rod.

There are plenty of fish in the sea — except where snappers ate them all — so fish in a place that doesn’t have warning signs.