I don't consider myself to be claustrophobic but this ten minute compilation of people crawling through tight passages in underground caves made me feel uncomfortable.
Nope. No. When I was in high school my friend Randy and I climbed down into something not quite as bad as this. You could actually sit up and move around each other in places. But it was dirt, an old mine, not hard rock, so it might fall at any time, and I put up with it until I was screaming inside, and the flashlight was going out, and there was a place you had to go /under the muddy water to go farther, if indeed there was even another open place on the other side/. That was the straw for me to wiggle around and panic/flee/scramble out.
Finally, afterward, back up in the light and the air, I was like /NEVER AGAIN/, of course, but I was quiet about it because I didn't want Randy to think I was a pussy (!); that was the important part; you know how boys are. Randy said, "I'd like to come back here with the scuba tank, and--" He wasn't kidding. He said, "You don't have to. I'll come back by myself."
This video. Oh, my god. Quit! Get out! I can't stand this. I have to shut it off. This is what little robots are for. Not a person. It's not brave, it's crazy.
One time in sixth grade, I remember, everyone piled on top of a boy in a big pile for some reason of the schoolyard game, and by the time we all got off him, the boy was wild-eyed, psychically broken, grunting/screaming, hitting out in all directions. He might have gone back to normal after that, I don't know, but I didn't really understand that sort of thing until the mine adventure four or five years later. It has to happen to you, or me, rather, before it becomes real. Probably there are lots of other things like that for people that we don't even realize because it never happens to us, whatever it is.
I had to shut off /Reservoir Dogs/ at the ear-knife dance.
Nope. No. When I was in high school my friend Randy and I climbed down into something not quite as bad as this. You could actually sit up and move around each other in places. But it was dirt, an old mine, not hard rock, so it might fall at any time, and I put up with it until I was screaming inside, and the flashlight was going out, and there was a place you had to go /under the muddy water to go farther, if indeed there was even another open place on the other side/. That was the straw for me to wiggle around and panic/flee/scramble out.
ReplyDeleteFinally, afterward, back up in the light and the air, I was like /NEVER AGAIN/, of course, but I was quiet about it because I didn't want Randy to think I was a pussy (!); that was the important part; you know how boys are. Randy said, "I'd like to come back here with the scuba tank, and--" He wasn't kidding. He said, "You don't have to. I'll come back by myself."
This video. Oh, my god. Quit! Get out! I can't stand this. I have to shut it off. This is what little robots are for. Not a person. It's not brave, it's crazy.
One time in sixth grade, I remember, everyone piled on top of a boy in a big pile for some reason of the schoolyard game, and by the time we all got off him, the boy was wild-eyed, psychically broken, grunting/screaming, hitting out in all directions. He might have gone back to normal after that, I don't know, but I didn't really understand that sort of thing until the mine adventure four or five years later. It has to happen to you, or me, rather, before it becomes real. Probably there are lots of other things like that for people that we don't even realize because it never happens to us, whatever it is.
I had to shut off /Reservoir Dogs/ at the ear-knife dance.