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“Morris here isn’t too happy about being assigned beginners classes,” Langford shares.
Her eyes come to me. “Is that right?”
“I’ll let you two hash this out. I have a pregnant wife, an ornery teenage boy, and supper to get home to. See you guys tomorrow.”
With that, Langford walks away, and I stand.
Zoey flits her eyes from the clipboard she’s holding to me. “Do you have a problem with answering to a woman?”
“No, ma’am. My momma has been bossing me around my entire life, and there’s no one on the planet I respect more,” I tell her.
“I’m not your mother.”
“No, you certainly are not,” I quip.
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Look, Morris, I know you’re the owner’s brother, but you’re new at this. It’s your first season instructing. It’s best to ease into it,” she says, dismissing me as she walks toward the door to her office.
I step in front of her to block her path.
She comes to a stop and looks up at me.
“I might be new to teaching, but I’m good at it. Better than Joanna or Clay, and you have them instructing intermediate clients while I’m stuck with the kids and blue-haired ladies. Are you punishing me?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Why would I have a reason to punish you?”
“I know I wasn’t your favorite student back in Colorado. You made that clear,” I state.
“I didn’t have a favorite student, and I wasn’t there to be your friend. I was there to teach you, and if I remember correctly, when you started, you were more worried about impressing the female students than you were learning.”
“That’s not true,” I defend myself.
She shakes her head. “Whatever. I’m not going to argue with you. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I do. I was definitely distracted by a few of the girls who were in classes with me—at first—but I’ll be damned if I’m going to admit it to her.
“Do you have any idea how many young men come to instructor school every year only because they think it would be so cool to be a ski instructor?”
“No,” I answer.
“Hundreds, every single year. They’re all looking to have fun and make a little money while goofing off and seducing the rich ladies in Aspen all winter. Do you know how many actually finish and get hired by a resort or school?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“A handful. They don’t realize it takes more than being a pretty good skier who’s gone on a snow vacation with their parents every year since they were little to make a good, safe, and reliable ski instructor. It’s my job to root out the ones who are serious about the work, and when I do see something worth honing in a student, I push them, and I expect more from them. So, if you think I was hard on you, then you should be thanking me because I wouldn’t have wasted the energy on anyone I didn’t think would be good at it,” she hisses.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Are we done?”
“No. If all that’s true, then I still don’t understand why you’re giving me beginners.”
“Look, most people who are going to be hiring us aren’t looking for the instructor with the best qualifications or who runs the most drills to tighten up their turns and improve their technique. They aren’t athletes. They are customers who want a break from the stress and chaos of their lives. They want to laugh and forget about deadlines and their demanding jobs or the housework piling up back home. Your most important job out there is to help them feel safe, facilitate a little improvement, and help make their trip memorable. They want to have fun on the slopes without breaking a leg, drink cocoa, and eat good food. Your personality is perfectly suited for doing just that. So, make them laugh, laugh with them, share a cup of hot chocolate, and turn on that natural charm of yours. The kids and blue-haired ladies are gonna love you,” she says.
“You think I’m charming?” I ask.
“Of course that’s the only part you heard.”
