S.C.U.B.A stands for Self Contained Under Water Breathing Apparatus. Normally, that “apparatus” is called your lungs, but since those don’t work underwater (God’s conscious choice), you have to carry your oxygen with you. Just pack all your air in a lunch box, strap it to your back, put a tube in it and suck the air like it’s a straw. One other thing: You need to attach weights to yourself because the natural tendency is for your body to float to the surface.
The laws of boyancy and respiration are both screaming “Don’t do it!” What more evidence do you need that it’s a bad idea?
Have you ever watched someone prepare to go scuba diving? It’s like watching a pit crew prep a 747. The more preparation needed to avoid death, the more you should just change your mind and go out to dinner instead. Have lobster so you don’t feel like your huge underwater zoological adventure plans totally went to shit.
I’m 100% sure if I ever went scuba diving, I would end up getting the bends. Let me modify that a bit: If I was patient enough to persevere through the equipment rigamarole, lug it to the beach and get on a boat with a bunch of people I don’t know who are also unwittingly interested in visiting Davy Jones’ locker, I’m fairly certain I would sink to the bottom, panic, surface too quickly and get the bends. If you got through that last sentence, you can probably scuba dive.
The bends is such an anxiety inducing name. Any condition that’s named based on its physical manifestations is frightening. Was it named 300 years ago by a bunch of confused pirates who couldn’t understand why the slaves they were sending down for treasure were surfacing with paralyzing gas pains?
So let me get this straight. I plop off the boat by doing that ridiculous backwards fall and I immediately plummit to the ocean floor (inevitable). I panic and want to swim back to the surface where I can breath and eat and my blood has oxygen in it, right? That’s a desire that’s probably very difficult to combat. In order not to get the bends however, I have to make pit stops along the way up so my body can adjust to the pressure. That’s everyone’s dream when they’re panicing – an awkward hang at an underwater base camp staring at a ticking watch.
Happy nightmares to my readers who fear an underwater death! (all of you).