tommyiscooldotcom

I'm going to start off my series of posts listing the inane details of my trip to America with the one most embarassing to me, so people don't think I'm trying to hide anything. Except the murders, of course.

I am a lousy quitter. While we were in Vancouver, in the last few days of our holiday, we did a day trip up to Grouse Mountain for some skiing. I had never been skiing before this. I had only ever been to the snow once before, and that was for a school excursion in Year 6. We had tomato soup and it was warm. I am a lousy quitter.

So after an hour and a half waiting in the Ski Rental place, I am finally suited up to go make a dick of myself on the slopes. As I have the balance of a drunk, cerebral palsy stricken child with no eardrums, I fall a few times. I don't stack it like Fatty Vautin on the Footy Show, but I fall. And after about the third fall, after only about half an hour on the slopes, I fall and land cross legged. Landing cross legged poses a problem when you're wearing skis, because it means you can't get back up without taking your skis off. It also makes you look like a frigging retard. I am a lousy quitter.

So much cocaine, so little time

So, I take off my skis. Mistake #1. See, in all the waiting around for jackets, pants, gloves and goggles (they ran out of adult sized goggles, so I got 'junior' sized ones, which was great because I got to have foam sticking into my eyeball), nobody ever showed me how to put your skis back on in the snow. I spent, and I'm not exaggerating, fifteen minutes in the snow, trying to jam my feet back into these fucking skis. I lent against trees, I jammed the skis into the snow, I grabbed my leg with my hand and tried to force it in (the Danika method), I invented new swear words like 'shifuckunt', and after the fifteen most frustrating minutes of my life. I quit.

I am a lousy quitter.

I grabbed my skis, and walked twenty minutes in the snow, with about 8 metres of visibility, gloves that didn't fit and goggles that raped my eyeballs. And then, when I reached the lifts at the bottom, this middle-aged guy sees me leaning against the rail, trying again to put my skis on, and tells me all I needed to do was unlock the heel clamp. Something I probably should have learnt at the top of the slope. So, five seconds later, my skis are back on, I jump on the ski lift, return to the top of the slope and... return my skis to the rental shop. I am a lousy quitter.

I rationalised it by saying I didn't spend $80 on skis just to have a shit time, and that I was sore and hungry, but the truth is I'm a lousy quitter. Such a lousy quitter that I was going to bold 'lousy quitter' just then, but quit halfway. I'm such a quitter I'm not even going to spell chack this blog.


Next on Tommy's holiday blogs: Tommy The Criminal.