Found myself unable to drown
After about 3.14 seconds on google I had discovered that I in fact wanted pie, this was odd as I was certain there was something else I was supposed to be looking for, but I am not widely known as a man who refuses pie.
http://adventuresinscuba.com/ happens to be located near enough to my house and also met the stringent fiscal criteria of being cheap as hell, so onward I went. Now what they do not tell you anywhere on their website is that this tiny hole in the wall is located in the rear quarter of a Canadian Tire parking lot, not the nice kind of parking lot that connects easily to the street and welcomes patrons but the dank raccoon infested back fourty wilderness known only to bigfoot and his entourage of would be paparazzi.
So having endured the trial of finding this place I wandered in to find that I was either standing in the emergency exit of a sinking soviet submarine or that the staff were not the most fastidious of people. Stepping over a large metal cylinder of unknown provenance I approached the counter making eye contact with the fellow most appearing to work there, or at least furthest along in the process of robbing the place as he stood before an open till. Without missing a beat he said “Alfonze?, right up those stairs” Now not being Alfonze I hesitated a moment, luckily he neither noticed nor cared. So up the stairs I went to see what awaited Alfonze when and if he should arrive.
Before me was a table and a television with various images of fish as seen underwater, the instructor began explaining the ways on might explode a lung or be eaten by a kraken before showing us an instructional video. This video contained instructions on playing the video for the class, which video to play for which class, and how to pitch them on more expensive classes afterword. It was about this moment I suspected that this might not be the correct video, but if I said anything I would no doubt be forced to endure yet another video, I said nothing.
We were sent to the change room to shower and then meet back at the pool, this sounded like a lot less harrowing experience than it turned out to be. This ‘Change Room’ was approximately two and a half meters in any given direction, which left scant spaces between the ever nuder population of this closet. The showers we were advised would be warm, they failed to mention that they meant warm in the sense that the water was in fact liquid, purist of malevolent lies.
So I, or rather ‘Alfonze’ approached the poolside and was directed to grab goggles and fins and all manner of absurd gear with names like octopus breather, regulator, or bcd. Having little or no idea what this gear was for or how much longer I would be alive to question the wisdom of my plans for today I began to panic, ‘Alfonze’ however remained reassuringly calm.
When the lecturing about the correct way to perform the valsalva maneuver had ended the class was advised to climb to the bottom of a darkened cavern of jet black embalming fluid at the far end of the pool. While underwater the only sound one is really aware of is the gentle ruckus of the air escaping what will soon be ones corpse and the occasional bass thud as other swimmers impact upon the walls or one another. Onward we climbed down the ladders remembering to pop our ears every two or three seconds to ensure slow progress and a sore nose despite the clear fact that most of those present could and have dived without equipment to the depths involved.
At the bottom of the pool I became sadly aware of the hell my childhood pets endured.
There was all manner of swimming in circles and popping of noses, in short fun was had. Then came the awareness that I had run out of air, or rather would have had I not in fact been a mere two meters below the surface and able to simply float upwards to safety.
The rest of the class began their ascent and eventual wandering back to the aforementioned nudity closets to change, it was when I arrived there that I noticed I had somehow left my clothes sitting in a puddle of what I hope and pray was water, regardless I returned to my car dripping wet and wearing swimming attire and leather loafers. Returning home with a certificate of participation and a rash from the chlorine I declared this a day well wasted.