Francis Meyrick

Caution – Moggy in the Forum

Part 1: Self Promotion

People who know me, will tell you. Sympathetically. They will probably roll their eyes as well. It’s true. I have spent many an hour contentedly blogging away on my battered, steam driven lap top. Tap-tap-tappety-tap. Tap. (sneaking up on an oxymoron) TAP!
That’s me. Annoying people around me.
“Two fingered Wars and Pieces”, one of my cynical supervisors at work once remarked.

Ouch! Good slap-down. That hurt. Not.
Okay, be like that. You cultural hermaphrodite. Hummmm…

I would finish some outrageous scuttlebutt, hit “Enter” and watch it spiral digitally off on its merry way. Into the Great Black Hole of CyberGlob. Awesome. And people actually read that stuff? Amazing. The world never ceases to amuse me. It’s all a Big Joke, right?
We earthlings are just the green yukky stuff in somebody’s test tube, maybe?
Once in a while I’d try an InterGlob forum here or there. You know, two way street. Not just one-way sending steamy digits off into the great Black Raunchy Hole. Two way. So people come back at you. Sometimes I’d lose interest very quickly. People would come back who were so often boring trolls, and obviously not pilots. Green-eyed wannabee’s. Probably not out of High School yet. Silly people, for whom the Good Lord, in His Wisdom, must have a mighty fondness. He made so many of them…
But occasionally, you would find a little corner in CyberGlob, where the trolls had not yet reached, or where they were resolutely kept (yapping noisily at the door) somewhat at bay. Sometimes that actually got really interesting. People would tell stories, and share anecdotes, and I would find it would trip dusty, old memory cells. Bring back stories I had half forgotten. Kind of cool. Helpful to the Creative Muse. Uh-huh. You know, that grumpy old tart shaking her head in disgust. And flipping me the bird behind my back.
But when I cyber-linked innocently to my blog, in some forum, in the early days, I got snarled at. Silly me, I thought it was relevant to the discussion at hand. The bare-faced conceit. Nope. Apparently not. I was, said the haughty Dissident, “self promoting”. I was a “spammer”. And HE was displeased. Mightily. Go away. Hang your head in shame. Eat elderberries, and go make love to a hamster.
Hmmmm…
I guess this is ME then…

I have given the matter careful pre-meditated thought. I have even post- meditated thereon. (I fell asleep) And I have reached some conclusions.

1) I would like it clearly understood from the outset, that I have been a Worker Bee Private Foot Soldier (Second Class) (D minus) all my career. Far too long. If you say I am self promoting, then by definition, I must have that ability. You are saying as much. Right? Well, just so you know, I ain’t being fobbed off with no lousy Lootenant rank. Nor a Captain. Dammit, if I can do that, I’m promoting myself WAY up there. You can stick your General stars up your itchy nostril as well. I think FIELD MARSHALL MOGGY has a nice, melodic ring to it. Just so we get that straight.

2) I really like the pose struck by Napoleon Bonaparte. That dude could pose! So COOL. So that will be my pose, from now on.

3) I honestly know exactly how I feel about this, so I have written a poem to commemorate my assumed majesty.
Here it is:

Assumed Majesty

Thank you, Honorable Diss-sident,
You ARE entitled to your opinion,
And I to mine. Whatever it is. (I haven’t decided yet).

Humbly Yours
Moggy the Magnificent
(Field Marshall)

…and finally. I just want to come to the whole point, which is that I would like to bow my head, follow my Buddha instincts, and preach World Peace and Harmony.

I would like to.

But it ain’t gonna happen…

Follow the smilies for my final word on Karma, the discovery of my inner Buddha, and the place where I am most at peace…. yes, you ARE entitled to your opinion…

NOW ENTITLE THIS, MOTHERF@#k’R

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on May 15, 2014, 9:36 pm

Of Helicopters and Humans

(Part 27) “Serious as a Heart Attack”

So there we were, moseying along.
Six on board. Quiet flight deck. We had been chatting earlier, but now we had fallen silent. Just in the cruise, calm flight, grey overcast, good visibility, mild sea state. Peace. All is good. The steady beat of blades through salt laden air. The comforting whine of machinery, hot gases and busy fluids doing exactly as the designers intended. No more, no less. Peace.
Steady, throbbing, living, harmony.

My tiny mind was in tune with the flight, but just ticking over. Monitoring. All is good. Very good. The rest of my mind was far away, thinking over the horizon. Distant thoughts, that tumble, and twist. Soar, and stagnate. The currents of the psyche. The unspoken longings of a tiny, searching, questioning spirit. A limited mind, seeking earnestly to expand its view, whilst recognizing the futility of the task. I was vaguely pondering Original Mind, and what mine was maybe like before it became manipulated, molded, squashed and prejudiced by Man’s so-called Modernity. Our strange and futile quest to create solid rock strata of Permanence, when we should embrace more the realization of the fluidity and inevitability of Change. Illusions, so it seems, haunt us. Was my original Mind maybe more kind, more gentle? Less defensive? Was I once more compassionate? Now, the hard bitten cynic, capable of withering repartee, was I actually failing somehow? It was hard to figure out… The Red distracting Dust of daily toil and trubble was a huge thorn in the side of my timid soul. Maybe I over reacted to compensate. Maybe I…

ALARM!!!

(Shit…!)

In the fascinating world of helicopters, we are never more than seconds away from sudden rapid events, escalating by the split second, that change everything. Routine normality, hours and hours and hours’ worth, of just beating along, can always suddenly be totally up-ended. A helicopter pilot who simply loves his craft, as opposed to those who merely seek a pay check, accepts this not as a vexatious irritant, but as the price you pay for the privilege of flying. We simple ones, who can’t get enough of flying, immediately feel pity for “our baby”, and we rush to tend to her needs.
Except that in this case…

It was I who was in trouble. Deep trouble.

The sudden pressure on my chest was wholly unexpected. It erupted from nowhere. It was an expanding force, and already I could feel it affecting my lung volume and my breathing. I took a calming breath. The pressure increased steadily. Now it was really affecting my breathing….

Unbelievably, I was having a heart attack…

* * * * *

It didn’t make sense. I’d just passed my annual EKG. My blood pressure was excellent, typically 117 or 120 over 75 to 80. I was barely a couple of pounds over ideal weight. My body mass was normal for my size. I didn’t smoke, and I drank very little. I felt fine. So where did all that come from? It didn’t make sense. But it was happening, anyway…

* * * * *

Remarkably calmly, I looked through the chin bubble. Good. A Platform. I was already looking at my GPS. Okay, I know exactly where I’m at. Immediate Autorotation or stable descent?

I can’t believe this. Well, believe it… keep your cool. We’ll work through this…

The pressure was surprising. It was still increasing. I took a firm grip on the cyclic and collective. More pressure. It seemed to be all over my chest and back. Weird. I needed to land, immediately. I turned, and smoothly started lowering collective. I needed to make a call. Was I going to black out? Panic outliers were waiting to pounce, but I held them at bay.
Steady now… Steady…

Something BLUE was coming into my lower field of view. I glanced down, casually. Blue. Lots of blue. Bubbling up. Everywhere. Blue Blood? Royalty? No. BLUE RUBBER. Sum-bitch…
My life jacket is inflating!!
Man! What the HECK!!??
I watched it inflate, and I felt the pressure expand everywhere. So now I knew. Exactly. How the Michelin Man felt.

This is STUPID! The accidental inflation was completed, and my priority was flying the helicopter. Could I control the cyclic? Yes, no problem. Could I manipulate the collective? Yes, no problem. So, can I fly this puppy? Sure, no problem.
There is ONE problem left, how-ever. It’s called:

“Explaining this one to the passengers”.

Errr… I thought hard. Hmmm… This was going to be awkward to pass off as routine normality. Maybe I could tell them it was a test? A practice event, sort of thing? Or maybe nobody had noticed. The front seat passenger seemed asleep, last time I looked. If he hadn’t noticed, maybe nobody in the back had noticed, and then maybe I could cover the whole thing up, and then maybe…

Slowly, cautiously, all the immediate priorities taken care of, I swiveled my gaze to the passenger beside me. With luck, he was asleep. Maybe I could carry it off until we got to our destination…

No such luck.

Our gazes locked, and I found myself looking straight into laughter filled eyes. You know, that sort of look of mirth. The arms-folded, eyebrow raised, foot tapping look that says:
“… what in HELL’S NAME do you think you’re doing…?”
For once, I was speechless. Mark the calendar. I didn’t quite know WHAT to say. I was trying to evolve the situation, and I think I was working on some polite platitude, when the gentleman forestalled me.
Softly, (witheringly), he asked:

“Captain, is there anything you’re NOT telling us…?”

…and then he burst out laughing.

* * * * *

They say… that increasing technology will inevitably bring more surveillance to the pilot’s cockpit. Not just voice recorders. But cameras. Cameras prying into everything you do. The view out through the windscreen. The weather. I shall be retired and fishing, scribbling two-fingered Wars and Pieces, and running for Mayor as a Libertarian, by the time that becomes the norm. I kind of wonder if it’s all a good idea. If you really take away the peace of a pilot’s cockpit, and put him on a permanent floodlit stage, with unknown eyes peering out of the Darkness into his every nose pick, are you really going to help safety? I think you will reduce the joy of flying, and the traditional calm of the cockpit, that’s for sure. Change the culture. Heap the pressure on. Safety? Not so much.

And you really want to see everything? I’m not sure you do. Do you really want to be able to tune a video link in, at random, and watch your Captain, breathless, (life jacket inflated) (obviously about to ditch) (MAYDAY-MAYDAY-MAYDAY) and his front seat passenger rolling around in a fit of hysterics? Giggling like school girls? Tears of laughter pouring down their faces? HUH!??? What are you gonna think? I think you’re gonna have a cardiac caniption. A fit. I KNOW you would…

And do you really want to hear the guy in the back, with the intercom headset, asking:
“What the hell is going on up there…? Oh, Francis, what DID YOU JUST DO?”
Followed by the guys in the back, including the Field Foreman, laughing their asses off?
No, you don’t want to see or hear any of that, I’m sure.

(Oh, gawd…)

Francis Meyrick

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on June 17, 2014, 4:25 am

Of Helicopters and Humans (26B)

Helo Underwater Escape – Part 2

Some Thoughts on Monty Python, and the Drill Sergeant. And getting the passengers engaged.

After my first Helicopter Dunking Experience, and my rather in-glorious Red-Hat Numpty performance, the years rolled on by. We tiny ants continued our regular elliptical orbit around our medium sized Sun. Space Ship Earth, lost in the fringes of some minor Galaxy, continued stoically on. I tried, for my part, to be a good crew member. I wasn’t always successful, but then who is? I tried.
My wanderings took me around our little planet, and I was always curious.
I did more escape training, and I started scuba diving. I learned to swim, reasonably well. A full stage above a doggie paddle, anyway. I could manage a steady, if unspectacular breast stroke, (don’t be scruffy, now) and I was relaxed swimming on my back. I could also tread water, and I used to wonder in what advanced sea state I would still be able to survive. I simply became much happier in the water. Scuba diving was wonderful. I did a whole bunch of training courses, and eventually earned my PADI DiveMaster rating.
So I offer some thoughts which you can take with the proverbial spoon, if you so wish.

(Did I just mangle somebody’s proverb?)

Anyway, a pinch of salt goes nowhere in the middle of the ocean, and pilots being pilots, you will never get a consensus on underwater escape training. But I have my reservations about the way we approach the subject with our passengers. Those boys are our bread-and-butter. They represent our mortgage payments. If they didn’t regularly treck out offshore, to manage Gas and Oil and huge steaks, then we Choppy Truckers would starve. Do we treat the subject as well as we should? I ask you that question.

How about Passenger Briefing? Yes, how about it?

A lot of very talented and knowledgeable people have gone to great lengths to produce really fine safety movies. Complete with music. And print-outs. Special effects. And a lot of choppy Presidents and Owners have spent large $$$ amounts of dollars investing in these videos and hand-outs. And they have employed Safety Consultants, and Risk Management Personnel. A lot of people are trying. Hard.
Yet we still see it -repeatedly- go terribly wrong. Just look at these recent awful accidents and drownings in the North Sea. Why is that? I’ve had friends drowned in helicopters. When you hear that, you think: Say, What…? Why do some people escape, and some not?
Why do some people do the drill, and some not??
I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know. I just wonder if…

Look at it this way: are people really going to listen, prior to the flight, to some recorded voice, droning on. And on. And on? When they have heard that recorded voice drone a million times? Saying the same thing? The exact same thing? With very little humor? Or zero humor? (God forbid!) (not allowed; this is serious)
When they get on the choppy, and IF the pilots play some audio tape (a big IF?), is it even AUDIBLE over the static and hiss? The rumble and thump and whine of a whoppy turning? I have my doubts. I have been a passenger in small and large helicopters, and I’ve been amazed how IN-audible the recorded flight briefing was. How NOBODY was even TRYING to listen. It was a ritual. A ceremony. Mumbo-Jumbo. A requirement. Hardly a thunder bolt.
It might LOOK GOOD to have all that stuff. It might look good to CEO’s and Insurance Companies, and Regulators, and industry Watch Dogs, and the Great-Grand-Pooh-Bah sitting on the twenty-seventh floor of Ivory Tower Number Five… but… really?
You know what I think? This humble worm, who, one day, MIGHT learn that “Silence is Golden”? Fools rush in where angels… get their feet muddy? I think we need VARIETY and HUMOR. And the BEST guy to deliver that, is the dude behind the controls. Immediately prior to the flight. So, I’m not pretending this is everybody’s cup of tea, and I’m not pretending it’s a solution, and I’m not pretending it’s politickle-ally correct (PC). I’m just saying…

Get the passengers engaged. Duh.

So, you climb in to my helicopter. Note the possessive. The legal title of that choppy may belong to some fancy helicopter Company somewhere, but when it’s flying, or turning and burning, believe me, it’s MINE. My baby. I’m the Captain. And you, honorable sir, the passenger, are MY mortgage payment. I love you, you ugly S-O-B. And I want you to feel completely happy to be on board MY bird. In fact, as far as humanly possible, I want all the Supremely-Onorable-Bods who climb in beside or behind me, to go away saying basically good things about me. Bad news travels fast. Good news travels molasses slowly. But if I try real hard, there is a chance the good word slowly reaches certain people. Other S-O-B’s. Who have phone numbers. To certain people. Who can get ME fired. I tend to think that the more bonus points you can collect, the more good words you can engender, the better. Because in the Choppy Business, no matter how good you and I might like to think we are, you just never know. When the day comes, that you’re facing the Tribunal. You’ve gone and messed up, and now your Fate hangs in the balance. Will the Good points you collected conceivably help, now you’ve just gone and… ? The famous pooch? Maybe. We can only hope. So I try hard. Knowing how easy it is to drop the ball. Do terrible, unmentionable things to that yappy mutt.

A personal briefing is really not hard to do. Many pilots I know admit they hate it. They avoid it like the plague. But why? It can be fun. You can vary it. Make it up a bit as you go along. Ad-lib. So you just climbed in behind me. You don’t know me from Adam. I’m just some dumb sadist they pay to get you H-O-M-E. That’s all you are thinking about. And you are worried about the wife’s spending, the teenage daughter’s ugly looking boy friend (with a glint in his eye), and young Bradley’s pet Pitbull puppy. Oh, and the mortgage is due. Son, just get me home…
I understand completely. But, dear S-O-B, with everything on your mind, if, all of a sudden, you are under water, will you be simply surprised? Or totally staggered? Will you remember the drill? Your underwater escape training a year ago? Two years? More? Really?
So, the dude behind the controls just turned around. He’s looking back into the cabin. He’s grinning. Old dude. He asks: “Everybody happy in the back?”
Nice of him to ask. Many pilots do not. Yeah, we’re happy. Just take us home, Cap.
But he’s not finished.
“Okay, guys, quick safety brief…”
You groan. Not another boring lecture. Your mind switches off. Vaguely, in the background, you hear him going on about the need to approach and depart the helicopter with the pilot’s permission, and to keep you seat belt fastened. No portable electronic devices…
Your mind is far away. Other things on your mind.
“I want you to know I have no direct mechanical linkage to the engine. It’s all electronic blips. So if you sneak out your I-phone, and your blips switch off the engine, we will NOT be pleased with you…”
(Huh? Oh! Really? So that’s why we can’t use them. Didn’t know that. That makes sense…)
Your mind has somewhat detached itself from young Bradley’s pet Pitbull.
“Please do not walk through the tail rotor. It involves everybody in a lot of paper work, and it looks bad on your resume…”
There’s amusement now. People are listening. (Yeah, ain’t that the truth.)
“Same for the main rotor blades. Beware if you are carrying long objects, pipes, fishing poles…”
(Yeah, that’s for sure.)
“In the extremely unlikely event that we have to land on one of those waves out there, we will have plenty of choice…”
More amusement. (Damn right.)
“After we land, and we’re floating, expect to hear me tell you DO NOT OPEN THE DOORS. That’s because I have to inflate the life rafts, and that takes a little while. If you open the door, and the life raft wraps around the door, we will not be pleased with you…”
(Yeah, okay, makes sense.)
“Now, if at any stage of this flight, you look out the window, and you observe FISH looking at you, what does that mean?”
(Huh!?)
“It could be a Red Snapper, a Barracuda, or, if you are lucky, a big breasted red-nippled Mermaid. Regardless, ask yourself what this means…” (pause)
(Double Huh!?)
“It means you are UNDER WATER… action is required on your part. As follows: Open the door First, grab the outside of the helicopter (I like to grab the top of the door), and ONLY THEN UNDO YOUR SEAT BELT. RESIST THE TEMPTATION to undo your seatbelt FIRST. Because if you DO, you WILL discover the hard way that you CANNOT open the door. Your body will twist all over the place, and you cannot exercise the LEVERAGE required. So make sure you open the door FIRST, grab the outside of the helicopter, and only THEN undo your seatbelt. And out you pop…”
(That makes sense. Never quite thought of it that way)
“Life raft inflation toggles are located on the front landing gear legs. Relax, and enjoy the flight!”

* * * * *

I’ve tended to ad-lib it as I go along. You’ll never get the exact same briefing twice. Now here’s the funny thing. It amazes me how often I’m told:
1. “Good briefing, Cap”.
2. “Thanks for the briefing!”
3. “First time I’ve had a pilot personally brief me. I like that”.
And often enough, the conversation after take-off, in the cruise, comes back to the subject of that briefing. In my bird, there is always one guy in the back who has a headset with an intercom, and the passenger beside you also has intercom capability. Frequently, the passenger beside you has some degree of authority. The bosses often like to get in beside the pilot.
Time and time again, passengers have told me that they “never quite thought of things the way I explained them “. And they had been flying in helicopters for xxxx years. Time and time again, after the conversations, I have been left with the pretty shrewd suspicion that in the event of a REAL EMERGENCY, without my briefing, the guys would have handled the escape incorrectly.
Now that suspicion I have is backed up by many accident reports. Both on the North Sea (recently) and in the Gulf of Mexico, you can read the accident reports. Some guys doing it RIGHT, and getting out. Other guys doing it WRONG, and not getting out. And also terribly trapping guys trying to follow out behind them…

Now when you think of all these chaps telling me that they had “never quite thought about it ” that way, you have to ask how many “formal briefings” they watched or heard over the years. Hundreds and hundreds, probably. How is it possible that so many people still panic and undo their seat belt first? Flailing arms and legs uncontrollably? Failing to escape, and also obstructing the guys trying to follow along behind?

1) I suspect RECENCY is a huge factor. My passengers have had a personal briefing right before the flight. If something happens fifteen minutes down the road… Pray that they remember.
2) I suspect the Question-and-Answer Style is much more… Engaging?
“Now, if at any stage of this flight, you look out the window, and you observe FISH looking at you, what does that mean?”
(Huh!?)
“It could be a Red Snapper, a Barracuda, or, if you are lucky, a big breasted red-nippled Mermaid. Regardless, ask yourself what this means…” (pause)
(Double Huh!?)
I think it may not sound stiff-upper-lip rigidly ‘professional’, but it gets results. It gets guys thinking. So many “professional” videos are monotone lectures. Sleep inducing. Hellish boring. Why can’t we have a FUNNY alternate video? I’m thinking, well, have your existing “approved” safety videos, but once in a while, throw out a refreshing change. A Monthy Python type Sketch. Some frizzy haired, crazy looking dude, with an eyepatch, who yells:

BAD BOYS-BAD BOYS-WHAT YOU GOTTA DO?
WHAT-YA-GOTTA- DO when the FISH looks AT YOU???

UNDO SEATBELT FIRST???
NO, YOU MORONIC ECTO-PLASM! YOU PIECE OF HELPLESS DINOSAUR EMBRYO! OPEN THE DOOR (Window) FIRST! GRAB THE OUTSIDE OF THE HELICOPTER! AND ONLY THEN UNDO YOUR SEATBELT!! JACKASS!

Or you could model it on that Drill Sergeant we see on Television. It would be funny, and magnificently educational. I believe it would have positive results. JACKASS!

Take 1: You could film it from the inside, UNDER WATER. And you could have some Monty Python character deliberately undo his seatbelt first, float all around the cabin, bumping in to everybody else, impeding THEIR emergency egress (like what happens in reality!), and you could have him exaggeratedly grabbing hold of another Monthy Python type character. In other words, a complete cluster “F”. Then he rolls towards the camera, with an expression of “oh, hell, Mummy!” on his face.
Take 2: Again, from the inside, same characters, doing it right.
Even if you didn’t want to go as far as the screaming Drill Sergeant, at least change the briefing format to much more of a Question-and-Answer style, and I think the correct and incorrect procedures filmed (with skilled actors) from under water, would be truly excellent.

Just my one-and-one-half cent’s worth..

I know, Silence is Golden. Leave it to the professionals.

Who? Huh!? Doesn’t that include us?

Hummm…

Francis Meyrick

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 19, 2014, 1:20 pm

Helo Underwater Escape

Part 1: Playing Submarine

It’s a touchy, sensitive subject.
It happens a lot. Too often. People surviving the unscheduled helicopter arrival on a surface of water, perfectly well. Not a scratch. Not a bump. Then, the choppy rolls over, or sinks. And some of the poor guys drown. Some get out. How come?
That’s so just not right. It’s like pulling your ripcord, floating down on your beautiful parachute, landing on a Freeway, and getting splattered by a texting Hockey DAD (notice, no feminist joke here) on the way to the junior baseball game. It seems outrageous. Cruel and wanton, even by the capricious standards of LADY Luck.

(I know, I know…) (cheap shot)

I had flown over water extensively, crossing to mainland Europe from the UK, and back to green Leprechaun country from Wales. Many times. I had never even thought about escape training. I just assumed, well, hell, you get out. Right?

Wrong.

My first under water escape training (of many, many) was horrific. No, I understate that. It was a total nightmare. When you start approaching 60 degrees North in latitude, the water gets to be Baltic cold. You wear full size rubber condoms, and you discover the joys of itches you can’t get to. No scratching possible. Bad, believe me. Very bad. Marinating in your own farts. Taking a simple call of Nature… well, it’s not too bad if the toilet cubicle is designed by a REAL architect. As opposed to the all-too-common, myopic, idiotic MORON on the twenty-seventh floor of some sky-scraper, with brains to burn, but no common sense. So there you are, following the dream, flying helicopters, trying to de-robe in a tiny cubicle, with no room to even swing your elbows out. (forget about trying to swing a cat). In a hell of a hurry of course. After that awful curry the night before…
I have a theory that most toilet cubicles on drilling rigs, barges, flotels and platforms are designed by the ubiquitous, angry Midget. Getting his own back, for a life time of being laughed and stared down at. Most of these drilling and rig workers are big, porky guys. They wear heavy coveralls that take some getting on and off. And then, when they gotta go, all they have available is this cramped match box. I swear… Actually, I heard a rumor the Midget’s sadistic cousin works for Sikorsky Helicopter Company, and had something to do with designing rotor discs… but I could be wrong. You sensible armchair helicopter pilots who don’t understand what I’m saying, just think of a Sikorsky S-76 with a very low front edge to the rotor disc. Kind of head height. Get it? (with in-sincere apologies to Sikorsky Engineers).

(short-ass!)

Anyway, underwater escape training is a must. I pretended I wasn’t worried about. No biggie. You’re going into where you get wet, and then they are going to smack it around under water, roll it upside down… no biggie.

I do that every morning showering before breakfast…

So… I went ahead. Seemed okay at first. When asked who were the swimmers and non-swimmers, I honestly told them I was a weak swimmer. My PADI Divemaster training, and my Tropical scuba diving adventures were still way off in the future. So I got this red bathing cap thing to put on. There were a few of us Red Hats, and the rest were White Hats. A bit like the old Western movies, I suppose. The White hats were the good guys. We were the dumb bad guys, feeling sheepish.
So, Round One. They put me beside this HUGE main exit. The door wasn’t even on. Me and another Red Hat. The rest of the guys have to sit beside these poky windows. Cool.
Splash!
Not cool. Cold. Sinks down four feet. My head is still above water. I can breath. Easy. Just splash on out. Pretend it was difficult. The instructors are watching me.

Do they already know I’m gonna be trouble?

Round two. Splash! Sinks down to where my head is underwater. I hold breath. Grab door frame. Undo seatbelt. Easy enough. Out you go. Up to surface. Pretend it was difficult. The instructors are watching me.
Round Three. Not fair. I have to take my turn at one of the poky windows. I much preferred the main exit, all twenty foot wide. Instead of that poky port hole. Oh, well. Splash! Down we go. I have a good grip on the window sill, as per orders. It’s not nice, but I do it right. Well, right-ish. I have some trouble wriggling out of the window. But I manage it. I’m pretty slim. How do those 280 pound Porky-Butt Boys possibly manage this?? Anyway, I did it. Can I go home now?

Hell, no.
(I could have been a librarian)

Round Four. Disaster Time. I’m getting really, really cold. Something tells me BAD is coming my way. Call it a premonition. They are going to hit the water harder (they tell us), and then ROLL the torture device inverted. What!? Come on. This is a BAD idea. I look around suspiciously. But I don’t see any angry, sadistic midgets. Maybe he works in the office. It seems kind of unnecessary. Cruelty to Man. Can’t we just agree not to roll over in a real emergency?

Splash!

That WAS harder. Lots of bubbles. A pause. Maybe they’ve changed their minds? That would be nice? No! WALL-LOP! Over we go. Lots more bubbles. I do NOT like this. No, I positively HATE this. I’m upside down, trying to remain calm. Okay, this thing has stopped rolling. I took a deep breath before. So I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. The drill? Yes, the drill? Oh, THAT drill. I grab the tiny port hole window sill, and undo my seatbelt. But my grip on the window sill is too weak. Instantly, not only do I lose my grip, I also FLOAT up to the ceiling, what used to be the floor. It’s a Cardiac Caniption moment. Looking DOWN at the microscopic window, struggling to get DOWN to it, unable to do so, because my stupid buoyancy won’t let me. I can only hold my breath SOOOO long…
Now what!? I know I COULD have been a librarian…!!

I’m running out of air now. I’m going to drown. What happens now? I’m completely out of ideas…?? Religion…?

A face appears at the window. A beautiful face. One of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen in all my life. I shall remember that fabulous face. For the rest of my life. No, not some big-breasted, red-nippled, blond hair flaunting, blue-eyed exquisite Norse female. Not some heart throb. Just a bearded, wrinkly, bronzed, incredibly competent looking diver. He looks up at me. I know exactly what he sees. A dumb Klutz. Me. Dufus, who let go of the sill, and who doesn’t know what he’s doing. With these HUGE, plate-size, pleading PUPPY EYES.
PLEASE, MISTER…!!

Beautiful Face reaches in, and grabs me. I won’t tell you where. I don’t care. I surrender to his grip. Instant attraction. I think he’s wonderful. Just get me OUTTA HERE! In a nano second I’m hauled out the window, and dragged up to the surface. Where I proceed to gasp and splutter, like a wet poodle, and make all kinds of terminal noises. He’s very nice. Solicitous. He asks: “Are you alright?”

(F@#K YEAH! I JUST SWALLOWED HALF THE SWIMMING POOL! OF COURSE I’M ALRIGHT!!)

They take me over to the side, and are very attentive to me. I, for my part, ungratefully, am thinking murderous thoughts. After a rest, I am asked if I’m okay again. I try and think of a suitable, dry comment. After all that water I swallowed.

“ARE YOU GONNA HAVE TO TOP UP THE POOL NOW?”

They assure me that won’t be necessary. And here we go again.
Round FOUR. RE-PEAT. Voluntarily. Because you MESSED IT UP. Get in the damn thing AGAIN. Same-same. Hold on to that sill for dear LIFE. Beautiful face is hovering outside. I love him. As long as he stays RIGHT THERE.
This time I pass. Cool. I learned something. Can I go home now?
Nope. The Grand Finale. As the Froggies say: The “Piece de Resistance”. Same-same, but once you roll over, the sadistic gremlin gets to SWITCH THE LIGHTS OUT. Are you kidding me? Are you totally nuts? I’m gonna “Piece” myself alright. No “Resistance” there at all.
Round SIX, STAGE FIVE. (cos’ I messed one up) I’m there. Upside down. I have a DEATH GRIP on the window sill. I am totally OBSESSED with holding on to that window sill. It is the ENTIRE PURPOSE of my LIFE, to hold on to that window sill. I am having an INTENSE, spiritual experience. Once we have stopped rolling over, and sinking, and blowing bubbles, there seems to be a long, interminable pause. The lights are still on. Did they forget? Are they going to have mercy?
Nope. Darkness rules. The Sadistic Midget in the office has switched the lights out. I HATE this. This is total, unmitigated insanity. (If I survive this, I’m going to be a librarian. Shuffle around all day, whispering “SSSSSShhhhhhh…!” I can do that. I know I can)
I do the drill. I would like to say I do it in a calm manner, real cool, like. I would like to say that. Sounds much more masculine. You think I was cool? You think? I’ve been shot at, and I’ve been cooler. I’d much rather get shot at. Somehow, frantically, eyes-like-saucers, bubbles everywhere, frantic, kicking, wriggling, struggling, freaking out… I get to the surface. Gasp for air. Beautiful face is beside me. “Are you all right?”, he asks. This time, I’m too tired and fed up to even think of a cool, withering comment. Anyway, I’m still blowing out water, and gasping, and savoring Life. What a HELL of a way to make a living.

A few minutes later, after trying to climb onto various inflatable rafts (and falling off) (multiple times) and after jumping off a fifteen foot dive board (they said I didn’t have to do that one, if I wasn’t comfortable) (but I was getting into this sado-masochism thing, you know) we are all standing on the cold tiles beside the pool. Hypothermic. Not caring anymore. Resigned. Fatalistic. If they asked us to stick our heads in the freezer for half an hour, or a thousand Watt microwave, I would have gone and done it. Total dis-interest. No more fighting spirit. Just total Zombie state. Duh…

I have to ask. You know, I was always the runt of the litter, in terms of intellect. I am shivering so uncontrollably, that it takes a tremendous effort to formulate words.
“Sc-Sc-Sc… SCUSE me, but do you guys deliberately make the pool that fu-fu- fu#@k’n cold, so we can get a feel for what sea temperatures are like if we really splash in?”
“Oh, no”, comes the answer. “We’re just saving on electricity. The Power Bill, you know…”

?????

Indignation probably registers on my icicle encrusted face. They go on, nicely, to explain the actual sea temperatures we will be flying over, and the temperature in the marginally heated swimming pool. The difference is awesome. Way, way into double figures. The frigid pool is WAY warmer. Almost like a sauna, compared with…
We Red Hats just look at each other. I know exactly what we’re all thinking. The same, unspoken thought.

“if we go in, for real….”
(sigh)
“We’re fu#@ked…”

(to be continued)

Francis Meyrick

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on April 19, 2014, 10:22 am