MONITOR OR BRANLEUR? by FRANCIS LE GUEN

The mood of Francis Le Guen

Because sometimes, do not mess around!

Music credits: Erwan & Eric Le Guen

Monitor… God knows I've put people in the water. Hundreds even. But I couldn't anymore! No no no ...

What an apostolate! Realize: Twice a day, underwater, walking badgers that we never see most of the time, and on the same sites that we know by heart. All these questions that you have to answer endlessly, always the same. All this exasperating slowness while waiting for the team to get going… No, thank you!

Not to mention the risks. Before, we lost both divers and teenagers their virtue without anyone finding anything to complain about: it was "the sea" ... But that was "before". Today, if an overweight diver pricks her ass on a sea urchin, it's the trial! Abroad it is even worse if we are to believe the tour operators. "The cabin curtains were blue on the brochure, Mossieur, not pink!"

Yet there are still some of these priestly teachers, those who have the vocation, who keep a touching candor to discover the same sea urchin, the same wreath at the corner of the same wreck. I admire them. Which actors! They deserve the palm of gold.

But most are bored and it shows. Often they stay with their arms crossed, vertical in the blue, stiff as justice. Without jerking, while the team struggles around the same potato.

Then there are those who take care of the gallery. They make bubbles in the shape of a circle. For whole minutes. They're bubbling, what. Do not jerk anything. They float, at most they ludionnent, just to fart a shot and show how they are masters of their buoyancy. Or they throw themselves back, nonchalantly, and drop another bubble. Perfect. Which goes up to nothingness.

These are the same instructors who equip themselves on the boat, camped on their V-shaped legs, throwing the fully equipped block over their heads, which miraculously finds itself in place. As you struggle with a hose stuck under a strap of your poor, atrophied chicken wings. Let the octopus go around your neck twice and strangle you like a boa constrictor as the block inexorably collapses in the direction of your bare feet.

These are the same instructors who cannot imagine getting into the water without a choppy front rocker, with only one finger on the mask. History of…
Underwater, from time to time, they uncross an arm to indicate with a con-descending air the common coral potato. While nodding the hat. They shake the head, what. Or, they wave their fingers at the end of their arm, in the blue, mimicking the universal sign of cash. Do not take out your credit card: it's for later! No, the monitor who feels the water with his fingertips only wants to attract fat Napoleon; who incidentally does not give a fuck. He remembers the blessed days when he was stuffed with hard-boiled eggs and stands ready just in case. But he shouldn't be taken for an idiot anyway ...

Others of these supervisors have itchy thighs and squirm against the current like wheeled boats. From time to time, they stick their heads between their fins, cormorant style, to watch while enjoying the divers who squeal at a good distance. Bottle quickly emptied: faster up!

The worst is when you find yourself dumped outside the site, which is increasingly rare given the endemic markup. In the blue, on the sand or in the seaweed. Wasted time ! Often, the monitor points in the direction of a vengeful atemi and flutters like mad to reach the site. Leaving his team in place. Especially since a slight contrary current seems to ruin their efforts. What an exasperating situation! While it only took 10 'of effort to finally be safe from the wreckage. Often, he turns around and clenched fist, mimics a vigorous handjob, just to give orders to speed up the movement. Waste of time ... Beginners piss themselves off! It is the drift of incontinence. "Rendezvous at the pile of sand" with two shortness of breath and cardiac arrest… What a job…

We must also talk about the cops at heart. They have been taught not to touch anything underwater, so they stay weightless, a good distance from everything, especially the divers they are supposed to guide. But they have their horns. Oh how I hate these accessories! Pneumatic, electronic, mechanical… The "world of silence" has taken a turn for the worse! I passed groups of Italians who could not stop communicating in Morse code, waving their thing! But in the hands of the "monitor", it is the ultimate weapon. The whistle. The logbook. The only thing missing is the kepi!

Let one of the divers pretend to approach this turtle or slide towards the drop off and… "Ding ding ding"! The cop rings his doorbell like a belt-high possessed. What a wanker! Doubt is allowed, in the blue ... Crestfallen, the offender turns back, extinguishes his lamp and scrutinizes, from a good distance, the all blue wall ...

There are also the conductors; equipped with a kind of chrome rod which they use to designate usually tiny things to Boeotians. But this magic wand is also used to call everyone to order, by ostentatiously extending the finger and to signal the disapproval of "authority" who taps his bottle. Ting ting ting… Again! More discreet but O how much more sly and false ass: it's not me, it's the wand!

I do not know you, but all this condescension, this increasing infantilization of the diving, me, that's mehore!