That girl and I watched Black Sea, a movie about a submarine filled with somewhat desperate men attempting a risky and illegal salvage operation in the depths of the Black Sea. As I watched the movie, I became decidedly uncomfortable.
I imagined myself inside the submarine.
I don’t think I have the poise to bonk around inside a submerged submarine. Okay, in plain English, I would freak-out.
To begin, I am claustrophobic. Beyond that—or maybe as an extension of that—my mind would never drop the weight of knowing that my life was one-hundred percent reliant upon valves and pipes and motors and engines inside a man-made monster the swallowed me and took me under. Knowing how pressure and water is unrelenting in seeking to pry apart and flood through every seam would pick at me.
And this: there is nowhere to go!
I actually squirmed around on the sofa when the submarine fell into distress.
For many years, the military has subjected submariners to physiological testing before accepting them into service. Obviously, claustrophobia is a problem. So is not getting along with others or being a loner. Even a certain level of generational changes must be considered.
Easy for me. I am out before I get in.