I nearly had the poop scared out of me recently, and, in retrospect, it was well deserved. I had wandered into the garage to engage in the painful monthly activity of “getting things squared away,” which really is nothing more than me just listening to heavy metal and moving crap around to make myself feel better.
Anyway, as I stood there contemplating where to start, a raspy, obviously irritated voice called out to me from over where I store my and my better half’s quivers.
Powder Skis: “Hey, buttmunch, when the hell are you going to take me out?
Me (startled): “Who the !@#$ said that?”
Powder Skis: “Over here – just want to know when you are going to man up.”
Me: “Oh, right. Yeah, so listen. I know we all had higher expectations this year, but the snow gods are a little behind right now. So let’s just stay positive and pray for the usual late season storms.”
Powder Skis: “Stay positive? Seriously? There’s like a month left in the season and I’m still sitting here dressed in summer storage wax. WTF?”
Me: “I don’t know what to tell ya. La Niña goes that way sometimes. It doesn’t always mean an epic year . . .”
Powder Skis: “So now you’re going to throw around some fancy meteorological terms? Screw this, I’m moving in with my cousin in Salt Lake City. At least down in the Wasatch Range I know I will get some time on the hill.”
Me: “Let me help you pack. You do know that I found you on Ebay for like $150, right? I’m sure I can find another pair this off-season.”
Powder Skis: “That’s a low blow. Pound sand.”
Carving Skis: “Hey, can you guys keep it down? I’ve been on the hill every weekend since December and need some quiet time.”
Me: “Sorry about that, but the powder skis started it.”
Powder Skis: “Whatever, dude.”
Carving Skis: “What part of quiet don’t you understand? Can’t you see my edges are dull, my bases are dry, and I’ve got rock shots all over? I’m exhausted.”
Me: “Well, at least you are getting used . . ..”
Carving Skis: “Yeah, more like used and abused. You could at least throw on some wax after we get home on weekends. But noooo, you just toss me in the corner and go plop your fat backside on the couch. No wonder my edges are rusted.”
Me: “Listen, I will get you into the shop this week for a full tune, including a stone grind. Will that make you happy?”
Carving Skis: “Promises, promises.”
Powder Skis: “You know what would make me happy? A crapload of snow.”
Carving Skis: “No one is talking to you.”
Powder Skis: “Shocker. No one has talked to me in two years.”
Carving Skis: “At least you have wax on you.”
Powder Skis: “Yeah, lot of good that is doing.”
Rock Skis: “You guys have no idea. Freaking entitled generation.”
Powder Skis: “Shut up, Grandpa. No one cares what an old, full-cambered ski thinks, anyway.”
Rock Skis: “Sonny, I was ripping turns when you were just the idea of some stoner ski designer. Tell me to shut up again and you’re going find out what real pain tastes like.”
Me: “I’m going to go get a beer.”
Brad Northrup is a former ski racer, coach, and ski industry professional. We are pretty sure this conversation was not just in his head. Find more of his Ski Bum Advice articles and satire in the OTO archives.
Need help deciphering ski lingo? Read “How To Talk Like A Shredder.”