I was greeted by a tennis ball to the head immediately upon
entering the door courtesy of my dive partner, Sean Birdsall,
whom all of us just called Birdman. With a modicum of cursing
I flung the ball back in his general direction and flopped down
on the couch. A few minutes of the usual back and forth
previewed half an hour of intense virtual violence wherein we
proceeded to mutilate each other relentlessly.
When my dive manager emerged from his private cabin, a
huge luxury on such a cramped ship, our entire demeanor
changed on a dime. We became attentive, quiet, and thoughtful
because our boss didn’t have the nickname “Screaming Rhino”
for nothing. His name was Walt Edderman and he was a
mountain of a man, thick with muscle from years of hard
labor, skin leathered and tough, and a temper as short as a
freshly mown lawn. What proceeded was a Job Safety Analysis
which I had prepared and subsequently delivered, but unlike
the general meeting earlier mine was riddled with questions
and discussions because as divers we were the one who could
die with a simple slip or minor mistake.
It wasn’t until we were half way through our required
meeting that our fresh rookie, Ben Acker, came crashing into
the room moaning some excuse about no one waking him up.