It has been a long and arduous road over the past month. The events that transpired tested my patience, my sanity, and my faith in the ability of others to do what is right. But in the end, I made it through the journey and have received the prize. I am now in possession of my ski pass.

For the past 10 years, I have worked at least in some capacity at a ski shop in Beaver Creek. At this point, there are only a handful of people who have been there longer than me. I have seen the shop undergo several facelifts during this time. I have seen two changes in ownership, including an acrimonious buyout against one of the owner’s desires. At this point, I can confidently say I am part of this shop’s family.

Throughout that time, they have always treated me very well. In fact, I can honestly say that my employers at the ski shop have been the best people I have ever worked for. After 10 years, I feel very invested in the shop and its ongoing success, and I would do whatever I can to ensure this.

But for the first time this year, I felt that they had done me wrong. And it hit me pretty hard.

For the past 5 years, I have worked out an arrangement with the shop where I would work over the holidays in return for a ski pass. This was a big deal. They did not do this for anyone else. Normally, you have to be a full-time employee to receive a pass. In many of these years, I wasn’t even a part-time employee. I was bonus coverage for 2 or 3 weeks. But I had worked for them for a long time and they knew that having an experienced employee as bonus coverage during the busiest weeks of the season was a nice security blanket. And I was part of the family. They take good care of their family.

This arrangement was always important to me because it was the only way for me to receive a pass granting me unlimited days at Vail and Beaver Creek — my two local mountains and my home away from home. This year, I had another option. Vail offered their Epic Pass for the first time. I could now plunk down a chunk of change and receive unlimited days up there.

But I chose not to take the sure-bet option. Instead, I asked to work out the pass arrangement again. I chose this option because the price of the pass would be difficult for me to afford (I spent most of the summer unemployed). I felt that 50 hours of my time was easier to part with than $580.

As with every other year, I called the shop often to confirm that my pass situation was going to work out. I would check in once or twice a month starting in August. Each month, I was told, “No problem. Just call in mid-December to work out a schedule.”

Then the economy crashed, and everything changed.

Unfortunately, no one informed me that things were different this year. Understandably, when people don’t have any money, one of the first things that gets cut out is a ski vacation to the most expensive resort in the country. So the shop was staring at their worst season ever. To say the least, the owner of my shop was shitting his pants.

Just before I came to pick up my pass, he decided that based on their poor numbers this season, they couldn’t afford any bonus coverage employees over Christmas. No job, no pass. But by this time, the mountain was no longer selling season passes. I was pretty much fucked.

I have to admit, I felt that the shop owned the majority of responsibility for this gaffe. I gave them many opportunities to tell me that they couldn’t guarantee my pass. Had they done so, I would have bought an Epic Pass while it was still on sale. But they waited until I had no other options.

I was confident that they would do something to correct the problem. After all, they had always taken great care of me. But all I received was, “Sorry. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t be responsible for the economy.” So on the week before Christmas, I basically had a giant ski boot shoved up my ass.

Surprisingly, my boss wouldn’t talk to me. It was as if he was avoiding the situation altogether. I understand that he has been stressed out about business and that he had more important things to think about than my pass. But at the same time, all he needed to give me was 10 minutes of his time and we would have been able to work it all out.

It took me almost a month to get that 10 minutes. During that time, I was beginning to believe that the 2009 ski season would not be in the cards for me. But finally, the situation was resolved and I have received my ski pass. And all I had to lose out on was the best December in the history of Vail.

I don’t have much of a point to this story. I wish I did. I suppose it was a long-winded way of explaining how relieved and excited I am to finally have a ski pass.

But I do have a point to this whole ramble, and it is…

I sometimes refer to myself as the ski bum poet. And with good reason.

Writers, especially poets and song writers, generally write about what inspires them. Some people write about sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Some people write about unrequited love. Some people write sharp political and social satire. Some people write about the plight of the wretched. I write about powder days.

It may sound trite, but before you condemn me for the frivolity of my subject matter, allow me to defend myself. I am of the belief that the subject matter is not as important as the way the subject is delivered. You can turn out good writing on any subject matter so long as you say it well. I’m not going to call myself a lyrical gangster by any means, but I work pretty hard at compensating for my trite subject matter with good language. Sometimes, I do a better job than others.

You can’t help what inspires you. Being out in the wilderness at 12,000 feet, rushing through the trees with snow hitting me in the face inspires me. Every winter, I experience a creative burst fueled by the time I spend on the mountain. It is only natural that a substantial portion of my subject matter talks about the inspiration of this creativity.

It is uncertain whether the mountain will inspire any new gems this winter. Hopefully, they will. As it is, I still have several pieces I want to write that were inspired by my experiences the past few winters. But in honor of finally receiving my pass, I’d like to share a few of my favorites inspired by last winter. I hope you enjoy.

 

This first one is about my ski shop. The bulk of it was written one day last Christmas when I had helped a few too many Texans. As a result, it is a bit harsh. I normally don’t feel such resentment and anger while I’m working there. But I also feel like attacked this from the right angle. The edginess makes it work. 

Ski Shop

Tick-tock tick-tock, I watch the hands on the clock
Creep-crawling along, slowing to a stop
I’ve been rotting in the dungeon for 5 hours
But it seems like 5 days
Riding the ebb and flow
The bouts of monotony and tedium
Interspersed with moments of utter chaos

Right now I’m enjoying a down moment
Twiddling my thumbs like a baby in his crib too long
A brief respite from my personal purgatory
That I call Rental Hell

Any moment it can all come crashing down
The next wave to turn my smile into a frown
Pushy, pompous parents and their bossy little brats
The next generation of callous corporate swine
Being groomed to one day become “the man”

I’ve been around the block and back again
Paid my dues, put in my time
And through it all I’ve come to see
The strange, the bizarre, the idiosyncrasies
The colorful characters that define the world we inhabit
While we punch the proverbial clock

The women that prance around in their fur coats and furrier boots
Throwing a hissy-fit if their skis don’t match their brand new hat
It retails for $125 – a little pricy but it makes them look oh so cute
I don’t need to look at the address on your form
To know you live in Texas

The middle-age men rocking their neon yellow one-pieces
Purchased circa 1986, but still retains its blinding bright glow
Strutting around like fashion models
Convinced their style is still on the cutting edge of cool
Not that it ever really was

The women with calves the size of Wyoming
Veritable tree trunks, and redwoods at that
I spend at least an hour shoving those Lincoln logs into at least 8 different boots
She’s in a state of disbelief that none of them fit
She gets 3 days of exercise a year
But mysteriously can’t shove her meaty hooves into a boot
Imagine that

The gaper swinging his skis over his shoulder
Spinning around like a ballerina
Wielding his weapon of mass destruction with full force
Be careful or he might take your head off faster than a guillotine

But when I’m waist deep in powder on a bluebird day
Floating on the fresh, basking in the rays
I think about the people coming through my shop
Paying 25 grand to live my life for a week
It drops the chip off my shoulder and puts a smile on my face
‘Cause when you think about it, this ain’t such a bad place

 

This next one is about a powder day in late March. It was my first time skiing the Y-chutes in about 8 or 9 years.

The Hedon

A labyrinth with many entryways but only one exit
I thought I knew them all like a lover’s warm embrace
I thought I’d explored every nook and cranny
Until you brought me to the hidden gate

We embark on our ascent, a journey of redemption
Exorcising demons of days long past
The sky is howling
Its frozen tears form a cushion beneath my leaden gunboats

We trudge on and on, drawing ever so near
We trudge on and on, headed for the stratosphere

I scaled the spiral stairs to the penthouse suite
I breathed in the air, gazed views beyond compare
I let out a cry from the depths of my soul
Until my sides convulsing, I could take no more

I stand here in disbelief
For the moment I’m a thief
As I horde this gift all to myself
On my perch in solitude
I scoff at those who would intrude
I’m a hedon in this winter wonderland

My heart is a wrecking ball inside my body
I clock in at 8 on the Richter scale
I’m cemented on my perch
As I stare down the doorway to my death

With a gargantuan struggle
I breach the ivory gate and find refuge down below
I let out a sigh of relief
I am king of the world once again

I storm off the launching pad in elation
A lead weight vanishing from my neck
As I’m buried to my waist in heaven
I slay the dragon from my past

I stand here in disbelief
For the moment I’m a thief
As I horde this gift all to myself
On my perch in solitude
I scoff at those who would intrude
I’m a hedon in this winter wonderland

“The Jababa Chronicles”: All musings, anecdotes, philosophies, rants, ramblings, and tirades written exclusively by Andrew Martin unless otherwise specified.