Story #1:
After two days and three fun filled nights in Boulder, it was finally time for my bother and I to hit the slopes at Keystone, and see what kind of heads we could turn with our amazing ability to do all sorts of mean, nasty, ugly things with only a board and a pair of skis.
We arrived at the ski hill they call, Keystone. I was so excited to FINALLY be skiing in the Great Rocky Mountains, where they say the snow falls from the heavens in it's driest form compared to anywhere else in the world. As Andy and I are walking from the car to get on the first lift, I realize this place is much different than Mt. Bachelor, Oregon. In Keystone, there is basically a large town surrounding the base of the hill. Anything anybody would ever need or want is found at the tip of their mittens whenever skiing gets tiring. I was shocked and a little unprepared, due to lack of preparation from my part. I had always skied in this kind of a situation growing up with these huge resorts and massive amounts of people being drawn to the area. Why was I feeling so out of place? Why did it even stand out to me? Who cares?
It is barely past mid-day when I was separated from Andy. I get down to a chair lift, that Andy was not at. I get in line anyways. This girl and this guy ask if they can ask me a few questions while they accompany me on the lift. I was kind of weirded out until they started asking me questions on a survey about Keystone. Once the guy asks the basics: what is your name?, where are you from?, how old are you?, and so on, he asks, "what would you change about Keystone?". My answer right off the bat should have been lowering the cost of a day pass, which I had bought earlier and was pretty damn expensive. Unfortunately, I did not say that. When the ball was in my court to produce an answer, I said something that was a knee jerk reaction and which kind of surprised me. I immediately turned around on the chair lift to look down from our elevation at the tiny buildings, tiny parking lot, and tiny people scurrying about within this grand infrastructure, and said, "well, you could start by burning down every one of those buildings down there". They both erupted in laughter and looked at me like a really funny guy. When they noticed I kind of was not kidding, they said they would both be out of jobs. I said cheers and they did not ask me anymore questions after that.
Story #2:
On the same day that Andy and I skied, we arrive at the Denver International Airport around 5:15 in the p.m. It was time for me to depart from my brother and get back to Bend to assume the routine, daily life of the week days.
I was following the signs that would lead me to my gate, when I found myself in the very long line, waiting to be securitified by security. I was half in a daze from all the fun in Boulder, fatigued from getting off the mountain a fews hours earlier, plus, I had been taking samplers from the Greenest Green's finest, prior to the security line. As I am walking up, a few older fellows with white hair go rushing past me, with their bags on wheels struggling to keep up. A woman's voice, on a recorder, is blaring through the airport, reminding us not to leave your baggage unattended, and to throw away your water bottle if you are not willing to chug it. A couple right in front of me are having an argument as quietly as they can, pretending like no one can hear them. There is a wave of tension in this line of people that is so thick that you could cut it with a butter knife. I look upwards to the second story walkways, because I feel like there is no other place to look. I see an Interfaith Chapel with a Cantina Margarita restaurant right next store. Wow, there must be over eighty airport security personnel in this one area! Some of the security staff people are standing by the x-ray conveyor belt, people watching and picking their noses. Where do these people end up? I guess I to am just a lonely member of this herd, trying so desperately to get to my destination. But, for what?
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