Reality spills sincerity’s drink
My wife and I had just finished our final day of a five-day teaching engagement, instructing 6- to-10-year-old “never-evers.”
That in itself would have been challenging enough, but we were forced to take the kids down blue terrain because the snow on the green runs had melted away.
We experienced all the adventures typical of the younger classes: “I can’t do that…,” “I have to go to the bathroom…,” “Help me, help me…,” and of course the ever-popular, post-lunch regurgitating of hot dogs and macaroni and cheese on the instructor’s boots.
By the time we dropped the kids off at the Children’s Center, we were tired and felt like we needed a “beverage” break. We went down to the village and chose a table in the pub next to a young couple sitting by themselves.
I made a facetious remark to my wife reflecting how much we “loved” those little children we’d been skiing with for the past five days.
Overhearing our conversation, the woman sitting at the table next to us looked at me with an offended expression and said, “That doesn’t sound very sincere!”
She had barely spoken the last word when in ran her darling little daughter, who bumped their table, spilling all of their drinks into her lap. The stunned mother took a deep breath, then looked at me and said, “Say, can we buy you folks a drink?”
” Rick VanTongeren, Steamboat Springs
Case of mistaken identity
One evening during the late 1950s, I was attending a convention on professional ski instructor certification.
I was there with Herb Schneider, a former member of the 10th Mountain Division, a group of skiing soldiers made famous during World War II. After chatting for a while, we decided to go for a drink and dinner.
On the way downstairs to the restaurant, we passed by the hotel registration desk where two beautiful young ladies were on duty. They told us that they were going to be off in 20 minutes, so we invited them to join us.
After sitting in the bar for a while, the young ladies finally arrived and we began to playfully flirt with them. Suddenly without notice, one of the ladies talking to Herb indignantly jumped to her feet and protested, “Oh, come on. Don’t give me any of that phony “ski instructor” stuff!”
” Paul Valar, Cannon Mountain, N.H.