FISH OFF
I fell in love for the first time in Mammoth Lakes. I called my grandma to ask her for advice.
“He’s a dick. Move on. There’s like 10 guys to every girl, you can easily find a new one.” My grandmother was right.
For one semester, I attended Chapman University. Statistically, Chapman was comprised of 40% boys and 60% girls. It was an oasis of pretty girls for the very few straight guys to gawk at.
During my semester at Chapman, I was asked out on a date only once by a dude I met on a hike in the desert.
My! Has the tide turned since I dropped out of college, rode a one-way bus ticket to Mammoth, and became a ski lift operator.
I shared the seven hour bus ride with ten Argentinian guys. I was the only girl. In my new life in Mammoth, I need about twenty roses daily to hand out to my suitors as the world’s ugliest Bachelorette. I don’t mean I’m actually ugly and the men in Mammoth are completely desperate, but I’m certainly not a double-D, fish-lipped, Instafamous vamp. There’s just a serious deficiency of women in Mammoth.
In the world of outdoor ski resort jobs, I wear a uniform that makes me look like the Michelin Man. The only reference to tell if someone is attractive is by their face if it’s not covered by goggles or red and swollen from the cold.
I am shocked by the countless times I’ve been asked out by men while at work.
For all they know, under my five layers, I could have a third boob or a tramp stamp that says, “Camel Toe.” There are not enough girls to go around for all of the locals and male tourists experiencing their midlife crises.
Once, I was standing at the bottom of a lift, checking guests’ tickets. A 40-year-old man pulled over to the side I was standing on, and he asked, “So… do you have a boyfriend here in Mammoth?”
“I have several.”
He chuckled and skied away.
At a party within my first week in Mammoth, a guy asked me where I lived, and I foolishly told him.
His response: “That’s the house with all the girls! I’ve been meaning to go over there and pick some up.”
As if he – along with the other outwardly cocky yet inwardly desperate pricks on sticks – had a chance! These guys think we’re a fish market where they can just walk in and buy one of us. I heard a local saying that goes, “You don’t lose your girl, you lose your turn.”
The incidents are endless, ongoing, and varied but my point is not that I am a fiery ball of hot irresistibility. In the eyes of a Mammoth boy, any girl is Aphrodite’s human form. In the ears of a Mammoth boy, anything a girl says is perceived coquettish, which can be frustrating. As much as I love free rides and free dinners, the boys have to know they’re not receiving anything but my friendship in return.
A piece of advice to my fellow mountain boys: ice fishing is more difficult than fishing in a spring pond.
