Every morning the sound of shaving foam (psshhhht) makes you want to go diving.
You actually like wearing a full-length wetsuit, hood, gloves, boots, fins, mask, snorkel, buoyancy compensator, compressed air tank, scuba regulator, dive computer, a knife strapped to your inside calf, and 7 kg of lead around your waist, but people look at you strange in the office.
The local dive shop people recognise you - on the telephone.
You automatically breathe out when you walk up a flight of stairs.
You suddenly discover a fervent interest in attending scientific conferences in Vanuatu, the Red Sea, the Caribbean, Thailand and the Great Barrier Reef.
The value of money is measured by how much dive gear you could buy with it.
No-one asks for your certification card any more.
Fresh air is starting to taste funny.
The most common word on your credit card bill is DIVE.
Your house always smells of wet neoprene.
You put your left shoe on by dropping it on the ground, standing on the toe of the shoe with your right heel, and forcing your left foot into the shoe.
You look back at your logbooks and realize you`ve spent more time at decompression than at uni.
Your dive log is available on Amazon.com.
You worry that your office elevator is ascending too quickly.
You`ve stopped logging your dives because it`s easier to just log your surface intervals.
You clear your ears prior to stepping on a down escalator.
Your picture appears on fish identification tables.