My eyes begin to water as I gaze far to the right. The air is biting, cold, and a tad moist. The line is quite long, and I know a twenty minute wait will do nothing but worsen the chaffing problem that has developed on my inner thighs. My companion quickly reminds me that looks can be deceiving, that the appearance of an unending line could in reality turn out to be nothing more than a pack of meddling children huddling together for warmth. My left ski is wedged in the snow for a few seconds and I am angry that I cannot dislodge it. I glare at my friend and his corndog-shaped snowboard in disgust – a man skis, a hippie snowboards.

Now at the back of the line, it seems that my so-called companion really is a big asshole. So much for looks being deceiving. I stand tall but cannot grasp the distance to the ski lift. This is going to take a while, and man, do I wish I had some baby powder on hand. Time elapses and I find myself in a state of disarray and bitterness. Why are all of these people standing like imbeciles in this enormous line? And more importantly, why the fuck am I?

As we inch closer, I see that this particular ski lift is meant for three. “Oh no,” I think. “I hope I don’t have to sit next to some random dude who wants to socialize.” The only talking I plan on doing the rest of the day is when I blatantly criticize my friend for being such a dumbass. I move to the right just as our third party member steps into the left position, leaving Andy in the middle. Three rows from reaching our destination I look at Andy’s face. His breathing is heavy and he looks anxious, probably in anticipation of having to sit next to an attractive girl for over four minutes. Oh well, that’s his problem. If he is nervous, good. We shouldn’t even be here. It should be naptime. They can talk awkwardly while I watch people fall on the slopes.

Here we go - it’s our turn. The ski lift swoops behind and is moving towards us.  Suddenly, for whatever reason, I lose all of my bitterness. Let’s have one good last run and call it a day. I didn’t want to do this, but hell, Andy would have done the same for me. He’s a good guy. And maybe I exaggerated a little about the length of the line.  Everything is fine. I ease myself into the seat, but something does not feel right. There is an obstruction. I am sitting on something large. Someone’s lost ski helmet, perhaps? Guess again. I soon realize, while in motion, that I am sitting directly on Andy’s lap.

He has decided to take my seat because he is too shy to be within two feet of a stranger. I guess he forgot to let me know he was going to do this. I am in no man’s land as the lift rises from two feet off the ground, to four feet, to eight feet. I remain on another man’s lap. I assume he will slide over so I can sit. I believe that would be the logical thing to do in this situation; evidently Andy doesn’t think like I do. He decides not to slide over. Instead, while hanging twelve feet in the air, Andy concludes that the most rational action is to push me directly off the ski lift.

My left ski latches on to something as I fall. I close my eyes as I crash headfirst into the soft snow. As I open them I realize it is not soft snow but warm mud that I’ve landed in. I am in complete and utter disbelief. I am not angry or upset. I’m not even irritated. I simply cannot comprehend the fact that I have fallen off of a moving ski lift. I glance upward to see the girl still sitting on the now motionless lift. Her expression is one of shock, confusion, and pity.

And there is no Andy. I roll over to discover that my oldest companion is right beside me. His plan has backfired, because we both now sit in mud. My ski and his snowboard are still interlocked from the tumble. We quickly untangle ourselves, and after staring at each other with a look that translates to “we are idiots,” we stand to meet the reactions from the crowd. I see blank expressions everywhere.  Middle-aged women are shaking their heads from side to side in shock, as if their own sons have just told them they were going to pass on law school in order to open several new IHOP restaurants. Time stands still as we make our way through the mob. It is a moment to remember. It is existential. We are idiots.