I just sent my documents in to reactivate my PADI certification so I can do a dive trip on my next tropical vacation, whenever the hell that is. But every time my finger rests over the “Book Now” icon for a tropical destination, the mountains beckon.
No willpower.
It’s been a long time since I went diving. My favorite dive ever was a wreck in the Keys when I screwed up my dive tables, almost ran out of oxygen and played with an eel, in that order. The following year I had my twins, and there went that hobby.
Scuba diving, that is, not eel-playing.
I’m excited to get back into it, but I’m dreading the gear part. Scuba diving is a heavily gear-oriented sport, and if you screw up your gear prep, it could mean mask squeeze, the bends, the narks, even death, the unalterable kind, which is bad if the empty void is the sort of thing that bothers you. Getting SCUBA gear ready for a dive is very intimidating, but I have a foolproof way of getting it done right.
I appear helpless and incompetent until someone pities me and does it for me.
Say what you will, but this method works for any activity where people who are GOOD with gear like to display their competence. It fulfills them, and it gets my gear done right.
Everyone wins, where’s the flaw?
The trick is to not come right out and tell people you’re incompetent. You must simply let them arrive at that conclusion on their own, with no prompting from you. For example, when I am on a horseback riding expedition that requires me to saddle and bridle my own horse, I do my tasks and then ask someone who is wearing expensive riding pants and leather boots if they wouldn’t mind checking my gear.
“Will you doublecheck my saddle? I don’t want to fall off, haha,” I say deprecatingly.
Of course my saddle is always wrong, and the horse person is always thrilled to let me know that. Then they pull and stretch and tweak until they finally step back and say, “There. You’re not going anywhere now.”
Work smarter, not harder.
Scuba diving gets a little trickier. If you are certified to dive, instructors assume you have passed the test, can do the dive tables, and understand things like tanks and dive weights and masks and flippers and neoprene. And while I have a fleeting knowledge of the above things, I still require much assistance so that I can avoid the unlikely occurrence of Death Beneath the Surface.
I know what you’re thinking, especially if you’re a diver.
“Why would you brag about trying to appear dumb?”
I resent that implication. Might it occur to you that I’m not trying to APPEAR dumb, but that I’m ACTUALLY dumb? That I actually lack the common sense not only to remember the order of condiments on a burger, but the skills necessary to attach a tank to a vest, and a bridle onto a horse?
So don’t dive, moron, if you can’t prepare your gear responsibly.
Hm. You’re probably right. But I don’t know why I should be penalized from participating in a sport I love just because the gear is confusing. So until the necessary neurons that make someone a Gear Head fire in my brain in the right order, I rely on the following method on the dive boat:
(Note: not all steps are in the right order, and I probably forgot stuff. It’s been awhile, and this is just supposed to be funny)
First: Check my suit, bite tabs and O-Ring, plus all gauges and regulator.
I’m still good at this point. I know how to check all of these things by myself, for real.
Second: Check buoyancy gear.
This is where things get tricky. I know how to check the integrity of the bladder (glaring menacingly at bladder: Have you ever cheated on a test or on your taxes? ANSWER ME!”), but checking relief valves and choosing the correct weights for the dive intimidates me. I usually choose a dive instructor or a guy who will want to show off in front of his girlfriend.
“Excuse me, can you help me with my weight belt? It’s been such a long time since I’ve done it.”
It’s not a lie. Since I’ve never done it myself, that is a long time, right?
Third: Attach BCD to tank.
“Whoa, this is heavy!” With this exclamation, someone always shows up, without fail.
Fourth: Attach important hoses to important valves so as to ensure that I can breathe when submerged.
Fiddle around. Take a really long time, until someone notices that I’m struggling out of the corner of his eye.
“Hey, you need some help?”
Laughing confidently: “Yeah, sure, thanks, sorry, I’m really slow.”
Yeah, slow-witted.
Fifth: Check air and all that it implies.
Emulate what everyone else is doing, and look satisfied with my results. Then furrow my brow, lean in and look at tank gauges very closely. Turn to closest woman and say,
“Does this look right to you?”
Of course it isn’t right, but saying this makes me look like I know that it’s wrong. Either the woman knows how to fix it, or she will turn to her mate and say,
“Honey, can you help her? She’s not sure it’s right.”
Sixth: Press the purge buttons.
I know how to do this one. I wish it lasted longer, because it makes me look super efficient.
Seventh: Attach BCD to tank.
This task actually requires help, so it’s time to find a dive buddy. If everyone is paired up already (story of my life), usually a dive instructor will do just fine. Since I already used the “This is heavy” line, it’s a risk to use it again. Maybe just a grunt will do the trick. I really try to struggle here, so big strong men will rush to help.
Hey, I’m no feminist.
Eight: Put on suit.
This is exhausting, and I was once taught a great trick to get a scuba suit on. Put small plastic bags in your dive bag, then when it’s time to put on the suit, put the bags over your hands and feet, and your hands and feet will slip right in. Then you can grab the bags out when you’re suited up.
Nine: Put on all gear in preparation for dive.
No coyness here. I’m probably sweating my ass off in the tropical heat, and can’t wait to feel that cool water hit my skin.
Ten: Time to go in the water.
I like flipping off the side of the boat and going in backwards if possible, it’s more fun. I spit on the inside of my mask so it won’t fog up. Little trick. Saliva is a surfactant. Once I’m in the water, I know what to do.
And that’s it. Not completely helpless, but close. Hey, don’t be contemptuous about my method. I can either play helpless or be dead, what would you prefer?
Don’t answer that.