Mike

Ball

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March 17, 2008

Spring Ski Trip, Part 2: Sliding Down the Garbage

“Four lift tickets – two adult, two children. That will be $112.50.”

“You don’t understand,” Dad explains patiently. “We’re here on the Mount Feverblister Winter Sports Paradise Package and All-You-Can-Eat Buffet. It says right there in the brochure, ‘Lift Tickets Included.’”

The woman in the ticket booth puts down her Danielle Steel paperback and scans Dad’s brochure. “What’s included is tickets to catch a lift on the Mogul-Buster Express from the resort to the hill. See the footnote right there?”

“The Mogul-Buster Express? Are you talking about that panel van with four flat tires in the parking lot at the East Possum Bladder Best Western? The one with the ‘Mogul-Buster Express’ signs taped over the rust holes?”

“That’s the one. Good thing you didn’t have a lot of stuff to carry on the walk over here. Which reminds me, the Ski Rental is right over there. $112.50 please.”

*****

The Mount Feverblister Ski Rental is a cinder block building with a concrete floor. Pine boards laid across stacks of cinder blocks form rows of shelves that hold bright green ski boots, hand-numbered with hot pink glitter paint. An apparently random assortment of skis, poles and snowboards, all prominently numbered with the same hot pink paint, lean around the walls. The air is heavy with the smell of ozone and Three-In-One oil.

The attendant is wearing a white-ish turtleneck sweater, white-ish nylon pants, and wrap-around sunglasses in a windowless building lit by a single 100 watt bulb. A large plastic badge pinned to his sweater says, “Master Ski Technician,” with the name “Chad” written below (in hot pink glitter paint).

“So,” says Chad, “would you like me to set you up with high-performance or recreational equipment?

“I want a ‘Hill Crusher Supreme’ snowboard!” shrieks Todd Junior.

“We’re all just learning, so we’d like something easy to use,” says Mom.

“I think I’d like to try out a downhill racing ski,” says Dad. “Maybe something with titanium alloy-reinforced torsion box construction and triaxial braiding. Oh, and racing boots, please.”

“I’m going to walk back to the hotel,” says little Suzie.

*****

Standing at last at the summit of Mount Feverblister, Dad takes a deep breath and says, “Just smell that mountain air!”

“It’s a sanitary landfill,” says Mom. “I think that might be cabbage.”

“Dad, why is your left ski a different brand from the right one?” asks Todd Jr.

“If you had been listening when Chad explained it, you would know that it’s to give me maximum performance for high-speed racing turns. This ski is optimized to my right, or ‘dominant’ leg, while this one is optimized to my left.”

“It’s definitely not because there were only two skis left with functional bindings that would work on the only pair of boots that would fit him,” says Mom.

“Hey, Chad is a Master Ski Technician,” says Dad. “He told me this is how all the best Olympic skiers do it.”

Uncle Bob hops off the chair lift and skids to a stop in front of Dad. “Hey, there you ski bums are. We’ve been here for hours . . . whoa, interesting skis.”

“Yeah, Chad figures that I’m athlete enough to handle them.”

“Right. Well, last one down’s a rotten head of cabbage,” says Uncle Bob as he launches himself down the hill.

“Shouldn’t we start on the Bunny Hill?” asks Mom.

“Bunny Hill! We don’t need no stinkin’ Bunny Hill,” says Dad in his best Treasure of Sierra Madre Mexican bandito accent.

Dad poles himself over to the edge of the hill. “All right guys, here we go . . .  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Next week: A Visit To The East Possum Bladder Urgent Care.

Copyright © 2008, Michael Ball. Distributed exclusively by North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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