Uganda Be Kidding Me Read online

  As I passed others who were skiing together, I felt sorry for them for being so dependent on each other.

  Once I was able to eye the base of the mountain and the main chairlift, I felt elated. I skied right down and made a sharp left to cut into the singles line. Single, sexy, skiing, and headed south, I thought. I saw the run at the bottom. Here we go. I’m doing it and living it. You go, girl.

  When I had advanced far enough in line to actually board the lift, I shimmied up to a couple and asked if I could share their chair.

  “Lift ticket?” the ski lift operator asked me when we got to the front of the line.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Lift ticket!” he yelled over the noise of the machinery.

  “I don’t have a lift ticket. I’ve been skiing here for two days, and no one has asked me for a lift ticket.” That was a lie.

  “I’m staying at.…” I had no idea whose house I was staying at. “His house is up there.” I motioned uphill. “He’s a member, and I’m his guest.” The couple I was hoping to tag along with had already moved onto the chairlift and and left me behind. People behind me in line were shuffling past me, realizing long before I did that my argument was futile, and without a lift ticket I was not getting up the mountain. In an effort to use my fame as a form of expression, I took off my safety helmet.

  At this juncture, it dawned on me that I was humiliating myself. I dejectedly shuffled my skis in the opposite direction of the lift, through the skiers who were all in line to get on the lift (who all had lift tickets). This involved what is essentially referred to as cross-country skiing, something I loathe. Once I got to the back of the line, it was a pretty clear shot to the main lodge in sight. Someone there would surely be able to help someone like me.

  Trying to maintain the day’s spirit of self-confidence and self-reliance, I reminded myself that I was a grown woman who could handle this.

  I took my skis off and lumbered through the front door. “Hi,” I said to the woman at the front desk. “What’s the deal?”

  “Hi there,” she responded cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

  “Well, I’m staying at a house in Yellowstone Club and I was told we didn’t need any lift tickets here to ski. Is that correct?”

  “I don’t really know. You’re in Big Sky.”

  “What is that?”

  “Big Sky, Montana.”

  “Is that in Montana?”

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, excited we were finally agreeing on something.

  “And where is Yellowstone Club?”

  “That’s a private ski club that is next door to Big Sky. I’m pretty sure it’s that way,” she said and pointed to her left.

  I followed her hand and looked out the window, seeing nothing but skiers and snow. “Do you have any idea if I can ski over there?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you can.”

  “Do you know how I can do that?” I asked her very slowly.

  The very nice lady found another very nice lady who gave me instructions on how to get back to Yellowstone Club.

  “You can purchase an all-day pass or a one-lift pass. All you really need is a lift pass because at the top of this lift, you will need to bear left on Rocky Mountain Fever. It will take you through the woods and there will be several runs to your left, but don’t take them.”

  I checked in my pockets and found two hundred-dollar bills. Another reason to pat myself on the back. I separated the bills from the Fritos and thought about taking a bite of one, and then thought better of it. Who knew where the day would take me, and I didn’t want to end up like that guy who had to eat his own arm.

  I bought the lift pass, thanked the two women profusely and then returned to the chairlift that had rejected me earlier.

  “Hello again,” I said to the chair operator from earlier, exposing my day pass. “Guess who’s got a lift ticket?”

  “You just have a one-lift pass,” he told me, eyeing my newly applied sticker.

  “That’s because I’m going back to Yellowstone Club. That’s where I thought I was actually.” I didn’t know why this guy was being such a dick, since people at ski resorts are usually quite the opposite, but I somehow manage to always bring out the worst in people.

  Once on the lift—alone—I called my half-black lover on his phone to ask for instructions on what my next move should be.

  “I’m in Montana,” I told him.

  “Right. What’s the problem?”

  “Sorry. I mean, I’m in Blue Sky, Montana—ski resort. I’m not in Yellowstone Club.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I did what you told me to do and skied right out of the house and down the mountain.”

  “You were supposed to cross over the mountain and go all the way to your right.”

  “Well, I don’t think I did that.”

  “Okay, well, can you find a run called Goldfinger?”

  “They told me to take Rocky Mountain Fever. I’m just going to follow their directions.”

  “Why don’t I just have someone come and get you?”

  “No, no, no, it’s not a big deal. I’ll just ski over to you,” I told him. “They gave me directions. If I get lost, I’ll call you.”

  It was important for me to do this on my own. My reliance on other people was driving me to drink… more… and I desperately craved being self-sufficient. Plus, there was no reason Benjamin needed to know what kind of basket case he was really dealing with. After what happened on the plane, I had the upper hand and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do this run a few more times until I hear from you.”

  “Cheers,” I said, and hung up.

  I followed the woman’s instructions precisely and stayed left, but somehow when I skied down the mountain, I ended up at the exact same chairlift I had just come from.

  I went back to reboard the same chair lift, only to be told by the same asshole that I had purchased a one-way lift ticket and not a day pass. Once again, I found myself clumsily side-stepping past the people behind me in order for me to traverse back to the original lodge and buy a fucking day pass.

  Then I called Benjamin, who I was now reduced to calling Ben, to inform him that things were becoming more complicated than I had expected. I told him it would be easier for me to just ski at Big Sky for the day, as I had now purchased a day pass. He told me that was ridiculous and that he was coming to get me.

  This new lover of mine was being very helpful. I found it sweet, but I was also happy that I was having such a good time all by myself and not panicking at the idea that I was definitely lost and had no idea where I was going. I tried to recall if I had taken an ecstasy tablet by mistake.

  “No, it’s fine,” I told him. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “This isn’t a caper movie, Chelsea.”

  I ignored this comment because it made no sense at all. “Let me just meet you,” I insisted.

  I felt we had already spoken too many times that day for two people who barely knew each other, and I hung up the phone.

  I got a map when I purchased my second lift ticket of the day. The chairlift operator was more sympathetic this time around. He told me there was a wooden fence that ran the length of the property separating the two resorts and that if I followed the fence, there would eventually be an opening. “Or you can hop over it, but I didn’t tell you that,” he said. “If you see a parking lot, you’re going in the right direction.”

  Two runs and thirty-five minutes later, I was at the bottom of a run facing a parking lot.

  I saw something peeking out of the snow across the parking lot and it looked like the top of one of those wooden livestock fences. I looked at the empty parking lot, which had been snowplowed and barely had any snow on it, and thought, Fuck it. This is going to have to lead somewhere.

  I just had to get to the other side of the parking lot. At this point I didn’t give a shit about ruining the bottom of my skis. I