11 Aug The Gas Station Sandwich Skiing Story
Yes, this is a shit story. But it’s my definitive shit story.
Due to my father’s gambling addiction my family only went on vacation to places that had blackjack tables. This meant we always either vacationed in Vegas or Lake Tahoe, which is like Las Vegas with ski slopes. While we skied, Dad gambled.
I skied alone as I was much more proficient in the sport than my Mum or Sis. We had planned to meet up for lunch at noon. My mother had bought us all sandwiches at the Shell station the previous evening. They didn’t eat the sandwiches, opting for food from the cafeteria, I was the only one who ate the egg salad sandwich of undetermined age.
After lunch I got back in the lift que to get more skiing in. As I was getting on the high speed quad lift to the top of the mountain, I felt a slight gas pain in my gut. Half way up the lift I thought, “Man, this sandwich is not sitting well with me at all.” When I arrived at the top I was ghost white, doubled over with sweat pouring off my face. The lift operator asked if I was alright. “No!” I screamed and pointed my skis down the slope and tucked.
I’m flying down the mountain with my butt cheeks clenched together while screaming in pain. Making it to a toilet might have been impossible but I was going to get as close as I could. The moguls were not helping at all. Thank god we were skiing Kirkwood that day. If it were at Heavenly or Squaw I’d have totally crapped my ski bibs as they were much longer mountains.
The lodge was in sight.
I frantically stabbed at the back of my ski bindings with my poles. My bindings released my boots from my skis as soon as I was on flat ground. I went end over end a few times because I was still skiing faster than I could run. Well, I tried.
Miraculously after tumbling I stuck the landing and kept clunking without missing a stride. I paid zero attention to direction my skis skidded off to. I ran as fast as a guy in ski boots possibly can while holding his ass cheeks together with one hand. I’m tearing off layers as I enter the ski lodge and scan the signs as I run. I high tail it into the restrooms and I’m ready and relived I barely made it in time to unleash the fury of my meal at the buffet the night before in a toilet next to toilet paper.
I get in the men’s room and every single goddamn stall is taken. Just as I was about to kick in the door where some 12 year old is taking a piss, a stall opens up. I yank some some dude out of the stall and latch the door.
The bathroom was completely empty in 30 seconds.
The sound of me screaming and my colon discharging combined with the smell must have been horrific. I sharded the sandwich, everything I had consumed for the past few days, and a penny I had swallowed when I was three. 5 minutes later and I’m still sitting on the toilet, trying to catch my breath when I hear the door open.
Some guy took a step in and gagged audibly. I found this funny. I chuckled and a fart came out. Then the guy who walked in starts chuckling. I’m going “Heh-pfft-heh-pfft-heh.” Which makes this guy bust up laughing, which gets me laughing which triggers round two of the sandwiches vengeance and the bathroom is cleared once again.
I’m in there for an hour drenched in my cold sweat before I was sure it was over. I was still sweating when I came out. My mother was like, “Where were you? Oh my god! You look terrible! What happened?” I says “Take…me…home.”
And that’s why I don’t eat sandwiches from gas stations besides them being disgusting.