Things About Me #51 - I Hate Snow

Now this contains two stories that were experiences. The first convinced me I did NOT like mountains and snow and the other reminded me I still hated snow, 25 years later.

#51 - I hate snow

Many of you may have heard this first story, but bear with me. When I was young and my parents were still married, we would drive up to Mount Baldy once a year in winter. We would ride the chair lift up, eat at the restaurant up their, have a little snowball fight and then take the chair lift down.

I didn't mind being there, but the drive up frightened me. Now, I don't know what you think frightened 5 - 7 years old sound like, but whatever you imagine. It was worse. Charming young man I was, I would crouch behind the passenger or driver's side seat, put my head down and scream. Scream the entire time. I think after a while they  brought a pillow for me to scream into, but I cannot be sure.

The last time I remember going was probably not long before the (well earned) divorce. I wa probably in the back screaming, my parents arguing and my mother finally saying (which still cracks me up).

 "Turn the GD car around Jerry!"

"But we're taking Scott to the snow." (Which is how he tried to justify letting him get away with being an asshole on the drive).

"He can visit the snow when he drives his own damn car!"

It was, by the by, nearly 25 years before I visited the snow again. You know what? I was none the worse for it.

Second story begins that 25 years later. I used to travel to Rochester New York for work quite often for Xerox. Rochester is always snowy (when Xerox authorized travel) - but that isn't the problem. The problem for me was flying over a thousand miles of unbroken white death. Now, I know you aren't afraid of snow, but all I could think about was that movies where a plane crash happened int the mountains and they people had to eat each other.

Now, in that situation, I don't know if I would rather be dead, but I certainly did not want to eat people. On the plane I usually looked around at the plump passengers (good eatin') and the very fit people (the eaters). It made for a painful trip.

PS: When did I get over hating snow? I'll let you know when it happens.