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Slats greets the Millennium By Seth Masia |
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I went up to Tantamount last Thursday night to watch some of my friends race under the lights, and afterwards found Slats Grabski sitting at the bar, watching TV and moaning about the Bulls. "Yo, Slats," I said. "Where are you going for the New Year celebration?" "Right here," he said. "It's the safest place to be. These guys been having their own Y2K rehearsals twice a week as long as they been open. They just fire up the diesels and keep on partying. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else when the big egg lays. Besides, I been coming to this mountain since I was ten years old. That's fifty years. Fact is, it will be fifty years on New Year's Eve, since my dad brought me here to learn to ski. I got sentiments here." "That's beautiful, Slats. Hey, bet you've seen a lot change in fifty years." "Here? Nah." he said. "Hey, bartender! Another one of these, and one for my buddy. You know, I met my first wife right here, right over in the corner there. Kissed her for the first time in that booth. The only thing that's changed in this bar is they've redone the upholstery. Oh, and light beer. They didn't get light beer until what, about 1970?" "Must be a lot of changes on the hill, though." "Oh, they got more snowmaking and an extra lift. They replaced the rope with one of them pony tow things. The kids got a magic carpet now. Kids're gonna get spoilt, riding that thing. Ski school should start with learning to sidestep. Nobody herringbones anymore." "Well, this is a customer-oriented business, Slats. Everything's easier now." "What's easier? Reason I like this place is, life's still tough up here." "Oh, come on." "I shit you not. Here, I'll prove it. How far away did you park?" "Oh, well. I got here late. I'm in the second lower lot." "That's half a mile. In 1950 we had to park down there, too. You know, they actually paved the road in 1960, but since they ain't resurfaced it since then you still got to walk up here in mud." "At least they have a shuttle." "They had a shuttle in 1950, too. Old man Tanta himself used to drive a tractor down the road every half hour to pick up stragglers on the hay wagon. Now they got that green schoolbus. You ever ride on that thing? There's so much mud on the floor that in the spring the marijuana seeds take root in the back. That's what happens when all the snowboarders sit together back there." "Well, that's changed." "Nah. The teenagers hung out together in my time, too. Snowboarders make fun of us skiers, right? Well, in my time we made fun of the Austrian refugees who worked on the hill. We had Othmar Schikelgruber here one winter. Jeez, whyn't he change his name?" "Okay. But once you get past the parking lot, everything's easier." "What did you pay for your lift ticket?" "Thirty bucks." Slats snorted. "That's easier than a buck? My dad paid a buck in 1950." "Yeah, but he probably only made five grand." "He made eight. And even if he did make five, you telling me you make $150,000? If you did, you wouldn't be skiing here on a Thursday night, friend. You'd be jettin' off for your long weekend in the Rockies, or rolling the SUV up to your house in Maine." "The base lodge is better." "It's bigger. They got burgers now taste like dried-out McDonalds. The ladies still gotta wait 20 minutes to get into the can on Saturday." "Well, the skis and boots are better." "They last longer, that's for sure. The rental shop can get three years out of a ski now without ever tuning it. Used to be if they let the stuff sit over the summer without fixing it, the skis would warp and the edges would fall off." "Aren't you impressed with plastic boots? Shaped skis?" "Hey, I was impressed with one-piece hidden edges, Kofix and buckle boots. Those were real improvements." "What about ski school? It's certainly easier to learn now." "You still gotta stand in line for an hour to sign your kid up. I know, I brought my grandkids up here last winter. And they still won't sell you a lift ticket at the ski school desk. You still gotta wait until ten o'clock before some college-age punk can drag himself out of the locker room to round up the kids, and he still lets your kid lose his hat and one mitten. If you're an adult, you still gotta watch some Eurotrash instructor sleazeball hit on your wife during the lift ride. I mean it, nothing much changes around here." |
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