Saturday, April 3, 2010

SCUBA = Stupid Crap Unless Being Attacked

We're celebrating Easter tomorrow with good friends who we haven't seen in far too long. They are a great couple who have had to suffer through the worst heartbreak I can ever imagine. I'm really looking forward to having some fun with them tomorrow.

I'm pretty open to new things. I'm willing to try damn near anything at least once. I'm even willing to try things that I know I won't like. Take SCUBA, for instance.

Our friends met while diving. He was a divemaster at the time and she was a student. Their story is pretty interesting and they enjoyed diving together for a long time. His son was my husband's diving partner. Our friend joined his son and my husband on the occasion of their last dive. . .

Anyway, I'm not really a fan of SCUBA diving. I kind of feel that I would have been born with gills if I was meant to breathe underwater. I don't even like to put my face in water; I won't even do that in the bathtub. But my ex-husband was really, really into diving, so I gave diving a shot.

What a freaking mistake!

Though I wasn't yet certified, he told me I should purchase all of my own gear. For those not in the know, SCUBA gear is freaking expensive. But he was hassling me, so I dropped a mint just to shut him the eff up.

Then we started taking classes. He was already certified, but he wanted to take the classes with me. He knew that I don't like my head submerged. He knew that I'm not very comfortable in open water; frankly, I'm not terribly fond of being in swimming pools either. He knew that death by drowning and death by fire are my two big fears. I'm also prone to sea-sickness. All in all, I'm not really someone who would enjoy diving. But I tried it.

Our classes were relatively uneventful, but Mr. Know-It-All sometimes would advise me to do something that ran counter to what our instructor said. Needless to say, I wasn't particularly comfortable with my dive partner disregarding what the instructor said to do. But whatever.

So we reached the point where we only had two dives left to do. Jerkoff swam away from me while I was, in my mind, being attacked by kelp. I finally found my way out and surfaced. I went back to the boat, wondering where A-hole was. When he finally saw fit to rejoin the group and board the boat, he had the nerve to say that he was in trouble and I was nowhere around to help.

I should repeat that he was already a certified diver; he'd been diving for years. He was very comfortable underwater. And, most importantly for the purpose of this story, HE SWAM AWAY FROM ME!!!

Years later, I still feel completely pissed at this. I have never felt so vulnerable in my life as I did in those frantic moments. Hearing my own heart pound in my head, sucking air down so fast that my tank was nearly empty by the time I boarded the boat.

Feeling attacked, I gave as good as I got. We created quite the spectacle. The other students averted their gazes or went below deck. Our instructor finally grabbed the two of us and took us aside. He chewed us both out for leaving our partner. Then he told us to straighten up before our final dive or there would be no final dive.

I took off my suit and went below deck. For me, there would never be another dive again.

Was I wrong? Perhaps. I just knew that I would feel uncomfortable with him underwater. I was sure that he would get behind me, close off my air, hold me down, easily overpower me, and drown me.

SCUBA. . .the only way I'll ever do it again is if my very life is in danger and it is my only escape.

Oh, and when we divorced, the creep kept all of my gear. Prick!

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