Mumbling Madly

Last Thursday we embarked on our much anticipated trip to Whistler–rated as the number one ski resort in North America. After teaching one little dance class for one little student we took off, (this student, when asked where she would fly if she could fly anywhere in the world, told me she would flap to heaven so she could visit her pet cat, Lucy). Our passports in hand it took us approximately one minute to enter Canada–we were at a more remote crossing station, thankfully avoiding the huge monstrosity near the city of Vancouver. We were amused and pleased at our quick passing into a new country, hurray for Canada!

After an uneventful trip, we arrived and experienced a huge brain fart at the check-in desk. We were with friends and for some reason Josh and I thought they were spending only three days in Whistler instead of four. We actually had to count down the days before reassuring the desk clerk (from Portugal) that we were all spending four nights and it was merely the long drive that scrambled our brains. Josh and I received the TINIEST room on the sixth floor–we confirmed this by checking out the floor plan on our emergency evacuation map. Our room was so small they bedside table was turned sideways and we were without a balcony–boo!

A large group of employees from Josh’s company (and their friends) were all under the same reservation at the hotel and we met up at a pub down the street. We were located in the quaint little Whistler Lower Village, a small town created specifically for tourists. Many of these folks were strangers to us, and after overhearing many accents from nearby tables I realized that our huge table had AMERICAN stamped all over it. Josh and I withdrew $100 in Canadian money–how cool–and were eager to toss it around. At one point, someone at our table asked us if we wanted a shot called the Redheaded Slut. We accepted and downed a pretty terrible shot of jager and a mess of other junk. Later, the same person informed us that it would be six bucks a piece for those shots. We exchanged meaningful glances and put down some cash: “Hey, what’s with the Canadian money?” Someone from the table jeered. Josh reminded them that we were in Canada and respectfully using their currency. “Oh, my bad,” he said apologetically. Nobody had bothered to exchange their cash and laid down American money–which the restaurant accepted and rewarded with a terrible exchange rate. I made a mental note to avoid any huge outings with said company.

The following day we hit the slopes and were greatly rewarded by speedy lifts and decent snow. I was having significant trouble with my bindings and adjusted them several times. I could not seem to avoid pain in the back of my left knee…I toughed it out though, and rode until the afternoon. There was one incident that occured on our first day that could have been disastrous, but is now merely a funny story. We were all lined up to get on the next chair, our boards poised and ready to slide out and on the lift marker when the lift operator suddently yelled, “Can you hold up so this little girl can get on before you?” Well, I was already halfway out so I furiously started backpeddling to the starting line. However, I wasn’t in time and the chair swung around and pegged me squarely in the ass. I fell flat on my face. When I struggled to get up, our friend Jill yelled, “NO! Here comes another chair!” Instead of stopping the lift, the operator had shoved the kid onto the chair that pegged me and allowed another chair to swing around and come at me. I immediately pulled the old duck and cover move, lying flat on the ground with my hands instinctively wrapped around me helmet. This has happened to me before, when I was learning, and usually the chair will go right over you and head on its merry way. However my free leg somehow got hooked to the chair and began pulling my leg into an awkward backward position. My body started to curl up like a scorpion and it felt horrible. I heard Josh yell, “OH NO!” he scooted out and knocked my near crumpled leg off the chair before loosing his balance and toppling on top of me. By this time the lift had finally screeched to a halt–all bells and whistles and emergency noises blaring. I pulled myself off the icy ground with a roar: I was PISSED. “Was it worth it?!” I bellowed. “Was it worth it to get that kid on the lift so I could fall all over the place?!” The lift operator gave me a flat apology, “Sorry, we had to get that child on the lift.” The Aussie snowboarders behind us backed me up and yelled to the lift op, “It was all your fault!” Even as I fumed I realized I was being a jerk and an asshole tourist but I was so upset I spat, “Goddam, that was scary! I almost lost a leg AND it was super embarrassing.” It’s important to note that the entire lift line was DEAD silent–a huge feat when you consider how crowded the place was. The lift fired up again, and I realized I just wanted to get out of there. As soon as the chair swung around I quickly sat on it, trying really hard not to cry. The lift operator spitefully said, “Could you not sit down until the green light turns on?” If I had been in my right mind I probably would have yelled something mean, but at that point way too much attention had been drawn to me and I only wanted to resume my day. While we accelerated up the side of the mountain, Jill and Josh got me to laugh about the situation. “Did I really duck and cover?” I asked, not even sure what events had transpired. Josh told me that when my leg got caught it looked really scary and we simply had to thank our lucky stars I didn’t break my leg. Later we reenacted it for Jill’s husband, with me and Josh playing ourselves and Jill playing the part of the two lift chairs.

Stay tuned for more pics and more details…