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You ever tried scuba diving? It's like, "Hey, let's take all the things that make humans comfortable—like breathing—and throw them out the window. Or, I guess, into the ocean." I went scuba diving once, and the instructor is there like, "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Just breathe naturally underwater." Naturally? I don't know about you, but my natural instinct is to not breathe underwater. Fish do it effortlessly, but they've had millions of years of evolution. I can't even evolve to be a morning person, let alone a gill-equipped human.
So, I'm there, trying to be all cool with the scuba gear, and I start thinking, "What if fish have their own version of scuba diving for land? Like, a fish in a tiny astronaut suit, just flopping around on a sandy beach."
It's all fun and games until you're underwater, and you realize you have a 50-pound tank on your back. I'm thinking, "Why don't they make these things lighter? I mean, we can put a man on the moon, but we can't make scuba gear that doesn't double as a personal submarine?
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The ocean has this unspoken dress code that no one tells you about. I show up in my wetsuit, thinking I'm all high-tech, and then I see some dude in a neon-colored speedo diving like he's auditioning for the underwater Olympics. I'm there looking like a space explorer, and he's like, "Bro, you're overdressed for the occasion." I didn't realize there was a fashion show happening beneath the waves. I expected to see a crab judging us on our choice of aquatic apparel.
And can we talk about the hair situation? You come out of the water, and your hair looks like you've been electrocuted. Ariel from The Little Mermaid didn't mention that part of the deal. I'm walking around with seaweed hair, and people are like, "Wow, did you just come from a deep-sea rave?
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Communication underwater is a whole other level of confusion. You're down there with your buddy, and they're trying to signal something. But it's like playing a game of charades with a mask and a regulator. You see them flapping their arms, and you're like, "Are we doing the chicken dance? Is this some secret underwater handshake I missed in scuba school?" And then they start pointing frantically, and you're just nodding like, "Yes, I too see the fish. Good job, fish-spotting partner."
And let's talk about the underwater slate, that little whiteboard divers use to communicate. I tried writing on that thing, and it looked like a preschooler scribbling with a broken crayon. My message probably came across like ancient hieroglyphics. "He must be trying to say, 'Help, I've been stuck underwater for centuries.'
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Meeting marine life underwater is like bumping into a coworker at the grocery store—it's awkward, and you're not quite sure how to act. You see a stingray, and you're like, "Do I wave? Should I give it a high-five?" I don't want to offend the ocean dwellers, but I also don't want to be that awkward tourist. And then there are those fish that nibble on you. It's like underwater acupuncture, but the fish are just freelancing. You're there trying not to flinch, thinking, "This is fine, I paid for the full spa treatment, including the fish massage."
But hey, scuba diving is an adventure. It's a mix of underwater chaos, questionable fashion choices, and awkward encounters with marine life. It's like the ocean is one big comedy club, and we're all just trying not to bomb on the underwater stage.
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