I grew up at the base of a giant volcano in Washington State called, Mount Rainier. And although there are many ski lodges in the vicinity of my hometown, for some reason I never went skiing until I was 40 years old. But then it was nowhere near my hometown, it was in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California near Lake Tahoe.
When I first suggested we go skiing, my girlfriend at the time seemed to be gleefully anticipating me plowing into a tree or possibly fracturing a limb. And although I thought her motivation was suspicious, at least she was willing to grant my request without much resistance or a protracted argument. When I forecasted the tremendous success, I thought I was sure to achieve, like any good partner, she offered her support, albeit sarcastically.
“I can’t wait!” She said with a sneer and a sinister chuckle. “But here’s what’s really going to happen… You are gonna get hurt and then humiliate me by having to be hauled off the mountain by the ski patrol! And when that happens, I am going to laugh my ass off! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
“Well… at least you have some confidence in me, and I appreciate that!” I said. “And they say laughter is supposed to be good for you.”
She looked at me with an evil glare that I pretended not to notice.
What really got me thinking about trying it out was that when we went to the local thrift stores looking for bargains, one store in particular had a bunch of used ski equipment that they almost gave away for one dollar an item. One ski, one dollar. One boot, one dollar. One pole, one dollar. And then, just about the same time as this fantastic discovery, a local grocery store started advertising lift tickets for Sierra at Tahoe for the bargain price of $20 dollars for the whole day! And so, I found what I thought was an appropriate set of skis, boots and poles, paid the thrift store lady the $6 dollars plus tax and off we went!
It wasn’t until we arrived at the lodge that I began to realize that my skis were slightly outdated. In fact, once I got them strapped onto my feet, I noticed they were almost as long as my girlfriends Cadillac.
“Those are some really old-style racing skis!” A helpful young teenage boy pointed out, while his friends appeared to be having a good laugh about something I was not privy to. He placed particular emphasis on the “really old” part. People were snickering at me and rolling their eyes in open mockery.
“Gawwd!” One sharply dressed ski bunny commented as she glared at me from the side of her eye. “What a loser!”
My girlfriend, Terri, threatened to send me up the lift in a chair by myself, she was so embarrassed.
“I’m going to the lodge.” She said. “I think I need a drink!”
“Ha ha!” I said hoping she was kidding. “It’s only nine o’clock in the morning! You can’t start drinking yet!”
She looked serious though, and so I said, “Come on, who’s gonna teach me?”
She gave me a look that said it could be anyone but her.
“I told you not to wear that stupid shirt!” She said, referring to my favorite long sleeved, black western button-down with mother-of-pearl pocket snaps. “And nobody wears a cowboy hat to go skiing!”
“It’s the only hat I have.” I pleaded in my own defense.
It was becoming apparent that I was totally unfamiliar with proper ski lodge etiquette, and I was feeling stupider by the minute. But to Terri’s disappointment I was carving up the slopes in no time. Yeah, she got some good pictures of me sprawled out, face down in the snow, gear strewn all over the place looking like an idiot. But all in all, I thought I did pretty good for a first timer.
When we got back to town I immediately went back to the thrift store and purchased some more equipment. The lady at the cash register looked at me like I might be mentally ill and said accusingly, “What happened to them other skis you just bought the other day?”
I didn’t want to tell her the truth and so I said, “Somebody stole ’em!”
She looked doubtful but suggested I should get some more boots and poles also.
“They’re only a dollar!” She reminded me. “And you just never know when you’re gonna need some back-up boots and poles!”
And so, I took her advice and got some more boots and poles, along with what I thought was a better set of skis.
When I got back to Terris Condo, she tried to tell me that I couldn’t store all of that crap at her place.
“Theres no place to put it!” She insisted.
But that worked out fine for me because I wanted everyone to see all of my crap so that they would find out about what a great skier I had become after only one trip to the slopes!
And so, I proudly displayed all of my equipment out in the open in Terri’s living room. I thought I did good. Look at all of that stuff I got for less than $20 dollars!
“Get them f _ _ king skis out of my living room!” She’d yell at me every time she got drunk. But I just ignored her and continued to admire all of my gear.
Sometimes I would put on all of my stuff and practice skiing down Terri’s stairs. I’d open up her bedroom door and launch myself off of her bed, furiously poling myself across the hallway, and then I’d go flying down the stairs and crash into the wall at the bottom.
“Michael Braae!” Terri would scream at me. “Grow up!”
Then one day I came home and all of my ski equipment was gone!
“Hey!” I hollered. “Where’s all my ski equipment?”
She just smirked and said, “Somebody stole it!”
Somebody must have told the thief about how outdated and worthless my equipment was because when I went asking around and looking for it, I found all of my gear in the big green garbage dumpster!
But before long I had my equipment extricated from the dumpster and drug back over to Terris place!
“Honey!” I hollered, all excited that I’d solved the crime and recovered my stolen property. “Look! I found all of my ski equipment, plus this really nice coffee table!”
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