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The Old Man and the Great White Shark
In 2011 my wife and I visited the Monterey Bay Aquarium. We were excited to see the recently caught juvenile Great White Shark. We pushed through the human lemmings and planted ourselves in front of the thick tank glass. Before long, the Great White cruised past us. The creature was beautiful, streamlined like a torpedo with teeth sharp as a saw blade.
We expected to see the shark swimming in an empty tank. Instead, the tank was teeming with tuna, manta rays and pilot fish. Most of the fish kept their distance but a few dared to pass a few feet in front of the Great White’s mouth. The Great White ignored them.
“Aren’t those other fish scared,” I asked my wife.
“They like it,” the aging docent in the corner said. He had soft white hair, a white suit and a hand-scrawled name tag that read “Clifford.”
“What do you mean,” I asked.
“We used to have a tiger shark in there. After it died, the other fish started fighting and acting erratically. They didn’t know who was in charge so they didn’t know how to behave. As soon as we introduced the Great White, they all calmed down. Animals need an alpha dog around. So they know the pecking order. People are the same way. We need someone bigger and stronger than us. Otherwise we start acting like jerks.”
“Does the shark have a name,” I asked.
“I call him Max because he doesn’t chew his food. He swallows it whole like my brother Max.”
My wife and I…
