Just wow... I can't believe how long I've left this to fester at some dead end corner of the Internet. I feel I have some explaining to do.
You see, shortly after my last post, my very happy 30 year old man post, I was picked up by Mountain Life Magazine to write the lion's share of their online content (and a little of their print). Which is awesome, cutting a check for something I love to do. Awesome isn't even accurate enough - I'm super proud of my work with them, and I'm honoured to have my name associated with theirs. (I'm even training an intern tomorrow!) Add that into the usual winter calamities (skiing and hangovers) and this just kind of fell by the wayside.
I've definitely said it before, but I will strive to put this into my weekly writing schedule. It is difficult with the ever-changing schedule (not that I'm jealous of you 9-5ers) but I'll find a way.
(I'd link to the site, but it appears we are undergoing an overhaul - connecting the Coast Mountain site with the Ontario one... So at least I'll have a broader audience! When the redirect is complete I'll let you know.)
But on to the task at hand. This is doing what I love because I love doing it, not because it pays my bills. Bear with me: it's been a while.
Days off may seem like a redundant term in Whistler, what with the year round mountain shredding. But after long weekends, especially Victoria Day Weekend, are mentally jarring. For example, I worked both Saturday and Sunday night, and the crowds that come up here are very cocktail friendly. Shaky shaky with the mixing glasses, all night long. A combined total of 550 tickets, non-stop from the printer, meant I could hardly talk to the people sitting at the bar.
A nice little anecdote: I ID'd some kids that sat down... then was struck by a thunderbolt of truth that the legal drinking age I'm looking for is today's date, 1995. I wish I could capitalise numbers. 1995. They were nice, they tipped, I'm just getting older.
So, back to the restaurant shell shock: as in so many professions, two days off isn't enough. This morning, all the remnants of a grueling session of work can be found. My feet ache, and my legs have pains - is that through work, or toxins from the 3 beers I drank after work? My hair is bed headed, and I refuse to shave, but when I wash my face with water, the unmistakeable aroma of ground espresso hits me... It's in my pores. I'm almost certain that after 13 years of working with coffee, it's now a part of my genetic make up. I had a girl recently say that she liked my "smell"... Cherries, apparently. That's a nice thing to know, your own smell (unless it's something like parmesan), but I am surprised she didn't say "dark roast'.
So, it appears that all the hangings-on of "the biz" take a day to wear off and wash off while you get your chores done like laundry and groceries - throw that recovery time into your "admin days" as I call them. That leaves one day to really enjoy, unless you can find someone to hang out with while you do laundry, someone that likes your smell.
And let's not pretend I'm not going to have a beer or two tonight; it's Saturday night (sorta)! Though I've been attempting to go without liquor for May (a feat in and of itself a Herculean task in this town and in this job), there's literally always something to do. It's 3 people's birthday today alone, and I have a Drinking with Ironman article I want to get done (oh yeah, check out my buddy Shane, he's running an Ironman at the end of July from a standing start in September. Also he couldn't swim when he started. So there's that.)
To all of you that work in an office environment, I'll try to make a comparable week: The partners are in the office, you have no chair, and there's a wild predatory animal that feeds on those that are stationary, so you'd best get running. Then when you get home, you can't get the smell of photocopier out of your nostrils.
The difference is, after all is said and done, I still love running from the tiger.