A Web Site For The Young Ethiopian Professional. Volume II   Issue I    
Wednesday February 26 2020

  Front Page
  Table of Contents
  Editors Notes
  Life Diaries
  My Music...
  My Story
  Catch Me
  Corporate Arbegna
  An Actor's Life
  Of Microbes
  Work Log
  On The Road
  Fast Lane
  Giving Back
  Survey Results
  Top 10
  Back Page
  Comment Center


Work Log…

They are my Mountains
by: TDM

Monday: Fresh snow, meaning a million people on the mountains. It is Spring Break in Vail/Beaver Creek, and that means… too many spoiled rich kids trying to look blue collar. Too many snowboarders using cult lingo. I still prefer the grace of skiing. There was a snowboarding competition here recently, and I realized I am getting too old for that game. Tempting fate is one thing, taunting it at 40 miles an hour down the un- groomed back bowels of the Rockies is quite another. I actually yelled, "Watch out, you hot dog!" to a teenager I saw zipping through the woods… "Watch out you hot dog??" I feel ancient. I turned 28 last week. That's the median age of ski instructors around here, although Sam, my boss, is closing in on 50. He makes being called a ski bum an honor…

According to the schedule, I am doing private instructions today… That's to the tune of about $500 that people pay for a day of private lessons… 6.5 hours. Pray, pray that I don't get a Texan. A lot of oil moguls come in this time. Ladies from Dallas want to ski in fur coats and diamonds… they call everyone "Shug", and have no body co-ordination. But they are great tippers… The women carry no money… only their husband's Platinum cards. They buy $5 waters with Platinum cards.

Lifts open at 9:00, classes start at 9:30. It is 6:01 a.m. Will try to get in a morning run before work. I love the mountain this early. By 4 p.m. there are beer cans all over the place. Twenty-something millionaires who just bought expensive boards stomp out their cigarettes in the pristine snow. Not going to look forward to this day, but hopefully the fresh snow will hide Vail's ugly side. It is a strange town. People come here and get lost deliberately. You wonder how many skeletons are behind the people in this town. The good thing is that no one really asks you what happened in the past. It is just assumed that something did. I love skiing. I love the mountains. I haven't had injera or weT in a pretty long time. But I listen to Ethiopian music… you ski down a long trail with Krar music… there is nothing like it… Crazy, huh? Gotta run.

Tuesday: Was a pretty good day yesterday. Student was an elderly gent from Washington DC. He knew I was Ethiopian from the get-go. I think he works for a think-tank. He tried to get me to talk about the war. "Hey, what do you think about the war there?" I wanted to tell him I just like Krar music going down a mean trail. He asked me how I ended up in Colorado… 90% of the time we are college drop outs… ne'er do wells. I hated school, I loved reading… what was calculus to me? I skied with a friend in high school… and then came to Colorado on a little adventure… that was 9 years ago. I've left several times, but I always end up back in Colorado. Skiing in Europe was a chore. Besides, I don't like the way the Swiss pronounce their 'g' and 'v' sounds. In the summer I work in real estate, in the winter I ski. I read, I drink beer… it is a pretty unconventionally routine life. I have run into a couple of Ethiopians in Colorado… one was this pesky SELEDA editor who hounded me for months to write this thing you are reading . She wouldn't go out with me, but she wanted me to do this. I didn't have a chance with her. But I said yes anyway. Providing I don't have to answer questions.

You usually have lunch with your students, but the gent wanted to see his wife. She was an intermediate skier. He is advanced. They met outside the main lodge, and he kissed her through his ski mask… It's not that cold, but he wanted to wear a mask. For $500 a pop, he could wear a pink frock. He kissed her again after taking his mask off and said something to her that made her laugh. That was cute. Usually, guys bring their girlfriends to the mountain and leave their wives in the hotel room, the spa or shopping. One guy brought two girlfriends to the mountain. They ended up in the same class. Suave.

Things wind up at about 4 p.m. Aprés ski begins. The town comes to life. Food is expensive in Vail. Beer is worse. But if you are hooked into the whole underground black market, it's fine. (Free ski lifts for waitresses in exchange for lunch… etc. ) Most instructors live outside Vail. I was lucky and found a sublet for 6 months for next to nothing. That was almost 2 years ago. It's small, but I can see the mountains from my window.

I am off tomorrow. I have to run errands, and fend off harassment from the SELEDA girl. This was due last week. But…

Wednesday: Bad day. Going back to bed.

Thursday: Better day. It is 6:41 p.m. and I have been home a couple of hours. We are short handed here. I had to fill in for a friend of mine who pulled a hamstring, I think for the millionth time. Taught kids, which is always the best. They are fearless. They look at a hill and say, "I'm going down there." Their parents say, "Why are you trying to kill me?" Kids love the mountain. Even teenagers. There is a certain reverence for it. Adults just want to wear the latest Patagonia, and talk about their meal at Sweet Basil.

Vail has changed. It used to be all white. Now you see a lot of Asians… especially Indians. And a lot of South Americans. Thank God the South Americans don't want to ski in their fur coats. They are the most polite. Everyone is pigeonholed here… Europeans like black women… Japanese like really funky stuff done to them … black men like fake blondes… Enough to make the PC people cower in fear. When you can pigeonhole them, it becomes easier on the nerves.

I think I am supposed to write about being Ethiopian in Vail. Not much to talk about. There are no Ethiopians in Vail. At least none I know of. I'm not sure it would make much of a difference. If I try hard enough, I think I can find an identity crisis somewhere. But that is too much work. And I am content with where I am. I just like the mountains. I like skiing. I like that the mountains don't ask questions. When I die, though, I want to be buried in Addis next to my dad.

Friday: Progressively I have noticed the insignificance of Fridays as a prelude to the weekend around here. The days kind of merge, and it all boils down to, "Do I work today," or "Are the banks open?" It makes you complacent. And, depending on what you were like before, complacent could be a pretty great place to be. You stop apologizing for yourself.

It is 9:35 p.m. I should be in bed. I am still filling in this week. I had a husband/wife couple as students today. Usually we have the same students for a 3-day period. But things have been off equilibrium. Here's a tip: NEVER take ski lessons with a loved one. They can easily become a non-loved one. This was a couple in their early 30's . I pegged him to be a workaholic Silicon Valley type. She just had a baby. Both of them had cell phones. He had his pager. She had a camera, but didn't know how to operate it. She accused the husband of getting too high tech of a camera. He snapped at her that she liked it when he gave it to her, and that she is slowing down his pace in doing turns. She just couldn't get how to do a turn. Kept crossing her skis. You learn to be patient, and remain quiet as the husband does all the yelling for you. I sometimes channel spirits from the banks of Tana.

Finally, the husband snaps that she had not lost enough weight from the baby, and that was why she could not make the turns. The wife burst into tears. He said this right as we sat on a ski lift. Not a good time to tell the wife she is chunky. If she was not in the middle, I am convinced she would have jumped off. She threw her overpriced ski eyewear, and screamed that she had had enough. I was hoping she would not slap him. That was a huge rock on her finger. Might hurt.

She stormed off. He got on his cell phone to check messages. I stayed invisible. You learn to be invisible in the mountains. You don't see, you don't hear. He over-tipped me and cut his class short. I went back up and did a trail. No Krar music. Just rowdy Spring breakers doing moves that the Kennedy family would not try on their worst day. To think that I was that stupid.

Saturday: This is the worst day to ski. Weekenders storm in for a jaunt down the mountain. They are suffocating the mountain. There were protestors by the lifts. Vail is expanding. Environmentalist don't like it. I think another 500,000 acres is being primed to get cut. I don't know where I stand. Expansion means more money for the town and eventually, very eventually, more money for me. But the mountains are looking a little bare these days. There was a really cute protestor holding up a sign that read, "Stop the Greediness". I asked her out. She has a late meeting (I think strategizing for another cute protest), but she said she could have drinks with me at 10:00 p.m. I could tell her parents had way too much money. And she way too much time. But we all have our burdens to carry.

I taught an intermediate class… 7 people. One black guy. He reminded me of Bryant Gumble. Especially the way he enunciated… He was in town for a corporate retreat. I liked his attitude. Probably in his early 30's, obviously being groomed for something great. He had climbed the corporate ladder with very sure steps. I think he thinks I lead a great life. A part of me envies him. We talked a lot over lunch, and he eventually asked me if my date and me would want to grab a beer later on. His girlfriend was traveling with him. Alright, brother man. At the end of classes we rode the Gondola down. His blonde girlfriend was waiting for him with a cold beer in one hand. Her name was Tiffany. He called her Tiff. Tiff was very blonde.

It gets easy when you pigeonhole them.

Adios from another ski season.

© SELEDA Ethiopia 2000,    All Rights Reserved.