In the Weeds
Chapter II
"Here's an important lesson that might save your life one day." Without breaking the rhythm of setting up his scuba, Bryan explained something that has stuck with me to this day. "If you ever get tangled up on a dive, don't try to force yourself free. You'll make things worse. Instead, stop, back up slowly, assess the situation and untangle yourself." Simple enough.
It was the end of summer 2011, and I was three months into my Divemaster Internship in the Marlborough Sounds. During this period, I'd spent much time underwater swimming through thick crowds of dancing kelp. On more than one occasion, I'd felt members of this salty Troupe reach out and try to pull away my regulator and other parts of my scuba upon which I depended to breathe. So, the advice was fitting.
Bryan was a stud. There's no better way to describe him. Tall, handsome, intelligent, brave and full of muscles. He'd travelled overseas surfing and playing underwater hockey, and was an accomplished scuba and freediving instructor. Bryan was the poster boy for the successful business he owned and operated with his mother, Jen. He could fix anything, dive deeper off one breath than most, and chug a beer faster than anyone in the room. A big fish in a small pond and, like I said, a stud ... and he knew it.
I spent most of my six-day work week with Bryan, which was a good thing. He tolerated me much more than Jen, who seemed to loathe my existence from day one. "It's hard to find good help unless we hire New Zealanders," she'd tell clients right in front of me. In fact, she was pretty dedicated to reminding me I wasn't a Kiwi and, therefore, not to her taste." How American," was her snide response when I'd finished giving a presentation I'd worked particularly hard on. "I'm from Canada," I reminded her sharply, having had enough of her by that stage. Unphased, Jen simply grumbled on her way out back for her thirty-seventh cigarette of the day.
As mentioned, Bryan was a little kinder, albeit mainly when he wanted a drinking buddy. We'd take turns buying beers on a Friday to enjoy while finishing off gear repairs and tank tests, or we'd drink one on the way home from a dive. But outside those moments, I felt like a second-class citizen, constantly wrong and continuously criticised. "Can we listen to something a little more manly? What is this shit? It makes me want to slit my wrists," he blurted out once while I was vibing to Radiohead and testing scuba tanks. I held my tongue and put on Metallica for the fifth day in a row. Bryan loved Metallica and nodded in approval.
I'd become his puppy, responsive to every command. Tail wagging and excited to see him whenever he turned up, despite being met with cold indifference. Bryan was hard on me. I suspect part of it was meant to benefit me, which it did, to a point. But I also think a lot of it was that he just didn't like me.
His DiveMaster Intern the previous year was Harry, a Belgian Engineer and Bryan's pride and joy. He seemed to enjoy comparing us. "Aren't you handy at all?" he asked one day while I struggled with my first hose replacement. "Harry was an engineer and picked this up straight away." Or once, on the way home from a wreck dive, feeling proud of myself for having penetrated a sunken ship for the first time, my bubble of excitement quickly burst. "Harry and I dived that wreck without scuba. He was a pretty good freediver. Do you think you'd be able to do that?" His tone and smirk hinted he'd already answered the question for himself.
There were some valuable lessons, though, which I am grateful for. Take driving a trailer, for example. The dive van was a long, fifteen-seat Toyota Hiace. The trailer, on the other hand, was a small steel cube that was nearly impossible to see in the wing mirrors. The van and trailer were kept behind the dive shop at the back of a large, busy public parking lot. The space was tiny and close to the back door, where gear was loaded and unloaded daily. I was preparing for an evening dive with some new students when Bryan appeared out of nowhere. "Can you drive a trailer?" Again, in a tone indicating he already knew the answer. When responding that I hadn't, my attempt to appear unphased went unnoticed. Bryan had no interest in my answer; he was set on teaching me something new. Nothing else mattered, not even manners. "You're driving to the dive site tonight." He threw me the keys. "It's a big parking lot. You've got forty-five minutes to figure it out." He walked away and called over his shoulder, "I'll be back soon to see if you can do it."
I spent the next three-quarters of an hour circling the parking lot, starting at the entrance and driving toward the shop to back in the trailer as if returning from a dive. Each time, I improved, and eventually, I got it. It was far from a thing of beauty, but I could back that little turd of a trailer into our tiny parking spot with that long-ass van, and it felt good!
Forty-five minutes later, to the second, Bryan returned. Palms sweating, I looped the parking lot again, approached the shop, overshot the parking space, shifted into reverse, and completely botched it. "Woah! Stop and do it again. Come on, Man! You're driving tonight, and the van will be full of students. You want them to take you seriously, right? It'll be pretty embarrassing if you drive them back from a class and can't even reverse the trailer." His words were like bricks, shattering my pride like a mirror, the reflection of my happiness now a mess of shards raining down on the tarmac below my feet. It was pointless telling him how many times I'd nailed it before he got there. He had watched and seen me screw it up. That's all that mattered.
He gave me some pointers, the most effective of which was to ignore the wing mirrors and instead turn my torso with one arm behind the headrest beside me, look out the back window, and steer with one hand. I nodded and set off on another loop.
In the absence of even one encouraging word since the beginning of my internship, I had been forced to learn self-encouragement. "Try not to be so nervous this time," I told myself. "Don't let him get to you. Just focus and nail it like you know you can." It worked! The students arrived mere seconds after my fifth successful reverse. "Okay, that'll do for now" was the extent of Bryan's praise. "Everyone's here. Let's get going."
Upon returning from the dive later that evening, my performance was a seven out of ten, maybe seven and a half at best. It wasn't the eleven Bryan had expected, but it was far better than the zero I'd started with only hours before. I was happy, even if he wasn't. "Don’t worry, you'll have plenty of time to practise. Beer?"
Despite how cold Bryan's approach was, I still see that experience as one of the positives I took from my time there. I learn better by doing, so trial by fire is something I always welcome. Encouragement and praise are excellent accompaniments, of course. However, I've come to learn that those can't be expected from everyone.
A few months later, things started going downhill quickly. My strained relationship with Jen was at a breaking point. I was running out of time and patience for a peaceful exit. One day, Bryan turned up in the afternoon. Things were slow at the shop, and the surf was pumping down the coast, so he'd gone for some early morning waves. He was a busy guy. Between the business, a kid at home and a partner with twins on the way, there was little time for Bryan to get into the sea outside working hours. Despite feeling a little bummed that he hadn't invited me, I understood. He was teaching me to become a Dive Instructor, amongst other things. To be frank, I was, and am, a shit surfer. He'd have been looking after me had I tagged along, teaching me once again. To him, I was work, and he was taking advantage of an extremely rare opportunity to escape work and embrace the freedom of surfing. I was happy for him. Until his return, that is.
The work van pulled in, and I, like a faithful puppy, stepped outside to greet my master and ask how it was. "Really good!" he replied while tossing me the keys. "The van will need to be cleaned out again, and my wetsuit needs a rinse. Just put my board inside for now." My blood boiled as he walked away. I wanted to walk inside and let him have it, "Let me get this straight. You fucked off down the coast to surf all morning while I've been stuck in this shitty shop with your miserable mother. Then, you come back and expect me to clean up after your mess from a personal activity? Outside work? What the fuck is that? You could've at least asked nicely, you arrogant fucking prick!" Naturally, I didn't say any of this. Instead, tail between my legs, I pulled his wetsuit out, dunked it in the rinse barrel, hung it up to dry and brought his board inside before cleaning the van. By then, my boiling blood was down to a simmer, but I knew it was time to plan my escape and find a new job. Friday beers didn't happen that day. Bryan asked if the van was clean, told me to put his wetsuit inside, said, "See you Monday," and drove away without even a thank you for cleaning up after him. I wondered if Harry was ever treated like that.
There are always two sides to every story, of course. I'm sure, if asked, Bryan would have plenty of frustrations to share about me. I've come a long way since my first day working at that dive shop, and Bryan's had a big hand in that development. He is an exceptional person: a successful business owner, an accomplished waterman and, in many ways, the type of guy I'd hoped to become back then. He was also a dick. At least to me, anyway. But maybe that's what some people need to be in order to achieve... dicks.
I walked away from that job carrying with me some important lessons. The trailer was a big one. It served me well with future jobs where reversing a trailer was essential. Also, taking the keys and figuring things out transferred over to teaching myself how to drive tractors for companies in NZ and Canada. However, the biggest lesson I took from Bryan was what to do when you get in the weeds. Stop, go back, reassess, and untangle. It's one of the most crucial lessons I've ever learned, both underwater and in life in general. It's especially important today, as I am most definitely in the weeds.