 |
WANTED: DIVE-SLAVE
I need help. People might have been saying it for years, but this time I've had to admit it. I need assistance.
You: reasonably strong, with an astonishing array of tools and a geek-like fascination for scuba equipment maintenance. But no particular desire to dive.
Me: hapless tekkie with more gear than common sense, who thinks a Leatherman is one of the Village People.
How fabulous it would be to have a willing helper to load my gear onto boats and rig my kit with meticulous care! Someone to search for my drysuit inflator hose while I'm trussed up in stage-cylinders and pinned to the bench by the weight of my equipment.
A companion who will lovingly strap the fins to feet I can no longer reach - unless I lean forward and crash headfirst onto the deck. Just a kindly soul to rinse my mask, check that my hair isn't trapped, heave me to my feet and tenderly shove my arse to propel me off the boat towards the shotline. I know you're out there somewhere.
Before you mock my fantasy, I believe I'm onto a winning idea that really could catch on. Adventure sports like scuba might not appear to offer much to spectators but, as Peter Sellers demonstrated in the movie Being There, some people like to watch.
Where would dive clubs be without them? People who hang around, chatting about gear or technique but never actually getting in the water. They've usually dived at some point, they may be highly qualified, but their pleasure comes from the trappings of diving: the adventure, the boats, the stories in the pub...
Instead of mocking these people or stressing them out by insisting that they actually go diving on a dive weekend, we should cherish them. Dive voyeurs are a valuable resource - put them to good use!
If you're thinking that no-one in their right mind would volunteer to be a "dive-slave", you've overlooked a basic element in the attraction of scuba-diving: ritual humiliation. It's not so long since trainee divers were referred to as novices. The tasks they performed in clubs under the guise of equipment care were little short of fagging.
What other sport would dress people in ridiculous, restrictive outfits and force them to jump into freezing lakes, all the while insisting that they smile and agree what fun they're having? The undercurrent of sado-masochism that runs through diving would put a spring tide in the Pentland Skerries to shame. So why be coy about it?
If you doubt my argument, spend 10 minutes surfing the Internet and you'll uncover a plethora of websites devoted to people who get their kicks from heavy diving gear and tight-fitting neoprene. Where do you suppose the closet fetishists of the diving world congregate? Strict dress codes, disciplined approach, worship of gadgetry... technical diving! It's where geeks have dived and gone to heaven.
But who needs to dive when you can spend hours on the Internet debating correct cylinder-marking systems and the intricacies of manifold repairs? There are shedloads of suitable dive-slaves out there: all I need to tempt them with is a suitable-sounding name for their role.
Golfers have caddies, actors have dressers - the porn industry employs "fluffers" to ensure that video stars are in a suitable state of readiness. That's nearer the mark. What I need is a technical fluffer - a tuffer.
With this suitably hardcore title, I will turn to persuading IANTD and TDI to adopt standards of tuffing and provide certification.
Returning from my dive, I'll be able to rest assured that my waiting dive-slave will happily wipe the snot from my face in the most effective and technically correct manner. Any volunteers?
|
|
