Can I Help You?

It’s a cracking summer’s day along the strand. A man with a patchy red neck pops into the local fish ‘n’ chips shop.

Afternoon, says the shop keeper, raising his head to meet that of the stranger’s. Can I help you?

Yes, I have this rash on my neck, he replies. You see it here? he says, twisting slightly sideways to show the affected area.

Yeah, right, acknowledges the shop keeper with a polite look. But can I help you? Do you want to place an order?

I dunno, do you think fish would help?

Are you hungry?

No, I mean for the rash.

I can’t help you with the rash. But, if you want something to eat I could definitely help you.

Well… I suppose I could eat a little something. I’ll take a small California roll, can of Coke and two steamed dumplings. Pork.

Except this is a fish ‘n’ chips shop – we don’t sell sushi and dumplings.

But they might go well if you did.

Maybe so, but –

– then you could’ve at least helped by selling me something to eat. I mean you did ask if you can help me, without firstly specifying any semantic parameters.

Well, this is a fish ‘n’ chips shop, so that logically should’ve helped to set the context and therefore scope of my question for you.

Really? People assume so much these days. They expect so much of others in an increasingly complex world.

Well, I still can help you but only with the food we have on the menu. So, can I help you?

Yes, I’ve got this rash on my neck, he says leaning forwards. You see it? And on top of that now I’m hungry. I’ll have battered cod, two potato scallops with extra vinegar and salt, and a pineapple fritter. Pineapple fritters are the best. A little bit of tropical sweetness to contrast the saltiness and highlight the summer’s sunshine.

He stops looking up at the huge order board in front of him, then drops his head back down and stares blankly into the face of the shop keeper.

Oh, good choice! lied the shopkeeper. Although, I’m going to need your help, he confessed with an air of light and crispy embarrassment.

What’s that?

I’m out of fish. Do you think you could duck over to the fish shop in the arcade up the road, and pick up a nice piece of cod for me?

Duck. Fish. The road. And pick. Plus a bunch of prepositions. Why should I have to do all this?

I’ll give you a discount! he sprouted, clawing back some cheap ground.

With the prospect of saving money, aware he was yet to buy some sort of cream to relieve his rash, the man with the rash darts out and hurriedly walks over to the fish shop in the arcade. In the meantime, the fish ‘n’ chips shop keeper magically transforms his shop. He changes it into a bicycle shop from the past. When the man returns brandishing a fine specimen of fresh cod, the shop keeper looks awkwardly to the side where the deep fryers used to do their work – like bubbling, stainless steel, scaled down waterbeds with baskets in them – and says, sorry, I don’t sell fish ‘n’ chips anymore.

In a feverish gesture of restitution the shop keeper generously presents the man with the rash a bike to keep – a green dragster with tassels on the back of the speckled seat that flicker and race about in the wind like headless mini serpents at speed. The man and the piece of cod – which by now has a smiling face and functioning limbs – both mount the bike and they ride off into the sunset like long lost friends. On a green dragster. With tassels on the back seat. The cod is doing the peddling as he has longer legs out of the two.

At this stage, all parties are somewhat bewildered and notice a creeping sensation of dissatisfaction and foreboding. Unfortunately, the cod begins to lack oxygen and starts desperately gasping for air, and his legs badly tire and feel like they’re burning on the inside. He knew all that muscle-building protein powder was a load of bullshit. Why did I buy it? he pondered with a frown in the shape of  regret. Well everyone else seemed to be, he muttered to himself with a tone of resignation and a flippant shrug.

As for the shop keeper, he begins to lament having opened up a bike shop as a wave of realisation sweeps over him, his eyes opened wide. Cooking really is his thing after all – not bicycles. Not to mention looming guilt that he could possibly have mistreated the man with the rash. Can I help you? You’ve gotta follow through if you say that to someone, he reflects. Not just dish out compensatory gifts. 

Thankfully, it was at this moment that the fish awoke and realised the whole series of events had been a weird dream. The fish ‘n’ chips shop, the shop keeper, the man with the rash and the green dragster from the 70s. Everything. Even the pineapple fritters, which he thought was a strange food to eat now that he was fully conscious. Kelp patties make so much more sense, he thought. Spanning his fins out to their max and most stiff, he flapped himself upwards from the sandy, sunlit, shallow seabed before propelling his little cod-bod forwards to catch up with the other cod in the school.

Hey, Jeremy, can I help you? 

Yeah, can you all just wait up a minute while I catch up?

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Now, your thoughts!.. That's right, you! My reader.

I received some feedback on this piece, which said there was too much going on. Also, that in terms of struggle, it went from the rash, to the lack of fish, to the bike ride – hopping point of view with each transition. So, because of these things, the reader giving feedback said they couldn’t find an emotional connection with any character.

Lastly, the person giving feedback also said that a lack of punctuation, specifically the lack of dialogue tags and quotation marks, was a distraction making it difficult to read. 

What are your thoughts about this? Or, are there any aspects or examples of your own writing that you’d value a second opinion on?