Thursday, December 5, 2013

A Diver.

A friend. A diver. A chili eater.


In times when bean counters, ambulance chasers and second-hand car sellers start to govern the scuba world, it's the time for a real scuba addict to emerge.
Do you know this guy from somewhere?


a)
a carpenter you hired some time ago
b)
your soul auditor
c)
your neighbor
d)
the guy who told you “Go diving and sin no more.”

Whatever. The fact is, he's an old school diver and as the rest of this bunch, clean as a whistle, straight as an arrow and of course from time to time he has to pay the price for this. As for instance after a meeting with a notorious gang of pushers selling scuba diving certification cards, T-shirts and diplomas – OK, he looks a bit haggard, slightly damaged, but his message to the pushers is clear – piss off.

For this guy, diving is diving. Period. Full stop.

He is bearing the weight of his scuba gear with dignity, whenever his primary tank is empty he opens the second tank valve, he will change regulator only for a regulator, BCD for a BCD …
If I got him correctly, his final statement at the meeting: “Bless you that understand me, and spit on you which despitefully use me”, earned him this beautiful crown.

How come you don't know this guy from Oprah's show? Well, somehow it's not in his nature to sit on a couch and explain to millions of blessedly mentally challenged intellectuals what body lotion he uses after being whipped with thorns.

What his Hollywood and the Village friends think of him? They hate his guts for what he is and for what he isn't.

What CEOs of major Fortune 500 companies think of him? Nothing. As they can not get their minds out of an endless loop “How to fuck each other ...”.

What Dalai Lama thinks of him? “Why he's always so late coming for tea?!”

What I think of him? “Buddy, what do you think, time for another …?”

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