There I was, tied in for the third time, and nearly hypoxic from rarefied air of safety and Van Halen permeating the scene. My normally steadfast confidence wavered slightly as I stepped up to my nemesis, a twinge of doubt tickled the back of my brain pan. Sweat prickled out the crease lines in my palms and I cursed myself for not thinking of carrying a chalk bag. Perhaps I could buy one quickly from the pro shop. Drat! The 10% discount only applies on purchases of $75 or more! My brief moment of tactical brilliance was denied.

I steeled myself as the Mission Cliffs belay inspector stepped closer and cheerfully yet ominously uttered the dreaded words... "Hi! So, what are your safety checks as a climber?"

My childhood was a happy one. Precocious, gregarious, good at understanding and following rules. It all started with Mom and Papa Chiang during the summer of love, late 1968...

[STORY OF UPBRINGING GOES HERE. BALANCE ANECDOTES TO GIVE AUDIENCE SENSE OF FORMATIVE INFLUENCES INDICATING CHARACTER IS FRIENDLY YET RAMBUNCTIOUS, HAS AN ADVENTUROUS WILD SIDE, BUT WITHIN THE BOUNDS OF BELIEVABILITY, GENERALLY A NICE GUY, BUT DON'T LET HIM NEAR YOUR BEER FRIDGE.]

I flashed back to two weeks ago. So young, so full of vim and vigorish. My innocent naïvete apparent, as I blithely took the belay test, as I'd done so many tens of times at other gyms, and expectantly turned to the inspector for my belay card, only to have my hopes wildly dashed as I was given the temporary, yellow "day belayer" card of shame. (To be perfectly honest, I didn't realize I should have felt shame until I heard the guy next to me complain about his, and then! Oh! The shame! It was shameful in its shame-itude!)

"You didn't check that you were double-backed when you started belaying."

"But I checked when I tied in. And I didn't take my harness off. You watched me the whole time."

"You still have to double-check double-backed."

"Sigh. Ok, your gym, your rules. Thanks."

[INSERT KRAKAUERIAN JUDGMENTS OF OTHER CLIMBERS. HEY, THAT GUY IS GETTING SHORT-ROPED UP THE ENTIRE ROUTE AND IS CLAIMING A RED-POINT! NEVERMIND IT MEANS SOMETHING DIFFERENT HERE IN THE CHALK ZONE VS UP THERE IN THE DEATH ZONE! AND THOSE PEOPLE SHOULDN'T BE HAVING SEX ON THOSE YOGA MATS, IT IS HIGHLY OFFENSIVE AND WILL CAUSE UNFAVORABLE CLIMBING CONDITIONS... OK, FINE, I ADMIT, I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH A GOOD RENDITION OF THE CONGRESS OF THE COWS, CARRY ON.]

Attempt #2, I was ready for their tricks. I confidently recited every safety check I knew in a perfect TSA agitated-zombie voice. I made sure to take my shoes off and had my chalk in separate 3 oz. containers in a quart-sized ziploc baggie. Life was good.

And then.

The yellow card of shame.

Again!

"You only used a single fisherman's knot to backup your 8."

"But it's a backup...oknevermindyou'reright. Thanks."

[THE FRONTSTORY AND BACKSTORY MEET UP HERE, I THINK. BUT IF NOT, I'LL JUST DIGITALLY SPLICE IN AND TWEAK WHATEVER I NEED FOR THE NEXT 20 YEARS. GOOD ENOUGH FOR GEORGE LUCAS? GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME!]

Third time's the charm, right?

I mentally go through my safety checks.

I notice the inspector waiting patiently.

I realize that I should actually verbally go through the safety checks because I am the only one who can hear the voices in my head.

I show the inspector my octuple backup fisherman's knot.

I decide the symmetry between the rethreaded-8 and the octuple fisherman's knot is a thing of mathematical beauty, as elegant as SOHCAHTOA herself.

I decide to keep my thoughts to myself and am thankful the voices stay inside.

It's done. I gently fake-lower the inspector to the fake-ground and give her a triumphant [mental] hug as she laminates my golden ticket, my passport to freedom. I know how tank man at Tiananmen felt. I am elated. I am certified. [hey, this could be a new dish at Cafe Gratitude]

[IN OUR NEXT EXCITING EPISODE, OUR HERO WILL ATTEMPT TO GET LEAD CERTIFIED... STAY TUNED, SAME BAT TIME, SAME BAT CHANNEL, NANANANANANANANANANANANANANANANA BATMANNNNNN!!!!!]

</irony>

So yeah, new to the Bay area. Anyone want to go climing?