Scuba Diving Classes, sort of

                                                                                                                                                              (991 word count)

My family moved a lot during my childhood, and so my parents would have to open up new bank accounts every year.  When I was in third grade I discovered a stack of old checkbooks and blank registers, I asked if I could have them.  This is when I started opening up ‘businesses’ in my bedroom. 

My favorite businesses included a Department Store - where I had piles of neatly folded clothes to show clients (usually open on laundry day), a Veterinarian Hospital - when I could talk a younger brother into holding a stuffed animal and giving me symptoms (vomiting was popular), and of course a Bank - where I'd make notes on folks’ hard luck stories about why they needed a loan (write Approved or Not Approved on their paperwork).

If I ran short of appropriate looking gridpaper to take orders on or to record business transactions, I’d swipe some scoring sheets from the Yahtzee game box.  My parents couldn’t understand why we went through those things so fast, “It’s like somebody’s eating them”, my dad said.  My thievery did sort of get out of hand when I recognized they made excellent In/Out signature sheets, and taped them to the back of all my books - beginning my library ‘business’.  So my private office was well-stocked.  The only disappointment in the office created at my bedroom desk, was that my ink stamps comprised of a smiley face and a butterfly, not very official looking at all.

One Sunday afternoon, enthralled by the Jacques Cousteau special I’d watched the night before, I decided to open a new business and offer Scuba Diving Classes.  With my usual zeal, I began creating a business ledger and some colorful signage on boards I’d cut out of the boxes from our last move.  I typically placed the signs outside my door and on my bed.  In this case, I was going to use the bed as a boat for the simulated diving expedition, so I put the sign up in the window.  And I was in business.   

Since my brothers were out of the house, I did not have to worry about my volume when talking on my make-pretend plastic phone.  There would not be an “Are you talking to yourself again?” shouted under my door. So, I described in great detail all the wonderful sights customers would see on this expedition, answered questions about the boat, confirmed that we provided towels, but suggested they bring sunscreen.  I was in the middle of signing-up my fourth customer for the one low-price all-expenses-included trip, when my mother called out my name from downstairs. 

I ran to the top of the stairs. “Yes mom?” I responded calmly although nervous that I’d been too loud and she would ask what I was up to.  “There’s someone at the door to see you,” she said before she walked back to the kitchen.

At the door, I was surprised to see two neighbor boys standing on the stoop.  One was a boy from my class at Sacred Heart School, and the other was his mean-ish 5th grade brother.  “We were wondering if you wanted to come out and play?” my classmate asked with a giggle.  There was something in the smug look of the older boy I just didn’t like.  “No, I’m busy right now,” said I and slammed the door shut. I went back about my business. 

Soon, I heard the sounds of my father and brothers coming in the house back from their baseball game.  I stopped playing and sat casually reading a book. Then I heard footsteps up the stairs; not hard, fast footsteps like my brothers.  Then they paused before my bedroom door.

My dad knocked and walked in holding the sign I had placed outside the door.

“So you are starting a new business, huh?”

“Yes,” I blushed as I said it.

“And what exactly is this business of yours going to do?”  He seemed genuinely interested so I told him about Jacques Cousteau and taking people out to dive deep into the ocean.

“That’s... ummm”, I could swear my dad was biting his lip, “called Scuba Diving, honey.  I think you got the sign a little,” he paused to suppress a laugh, “wrong, so you’ll need to take that down and make a new one.” He pointed to the windowsill.

“Okay, dad” was all I said.  Even though I wanted to ask about what I had written, I was too embarrassed that he caught me in this make-pretend episode.  After his hasty retreat, I sat for a minute thinking, ‘Scuba Diving? Really? ’

Dad went downstairs.  I waited to hear the fast, loud footsteps of boys and then walked to my older brother’s room with my sign in hand.  I asked James, “What does this mean?”  He looked at the sign, with my carefully crafted letters that read ‘Skinny Dipping Lessons’ and started laughing aloud.  And he wouldn’t stop. “Tell me, tell me now,” I shouted.  When he caught his breath, he finally told me.  He called for my brother Patrick and laughed hysterically as I fled back to my room.  My face was so red and hot, I thought my skin would melt off and my hair fall out.

In my room, my condition worsened because I remembered those neighboring boys who mysteriously rang.  Now I was positively on fire with embarrassment.  ‘Oh no, I’ll have to leave town, change my name.’  At the very least, I had to come down with a vile illness quickly, so I wouldn’t have to go to the bus stop tomorrow and face those boys. 

‘I’ll start acting sick now, then refuse to go down for dinner, and that way I can avoid my family laughing at me as well’.  I crawled into bed wondering how to concoct a mixture which looked and smelled like vomit.


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Note:  this story is part of a collection of funny and/or embarrassing short stories from childhood.  For more laughs, please see:

"Waltzing Matilda"  E: funny and/or embarrassing short stories from childhood