Take this job and shove it

A pow-day poem

By John Minier | Photo by Justin Kious

Alarm cuts loose at 6 a.m.

It must be time to get up again

Wondering what the weather is doing –

Newsman said a storm was brewing

What to wear, I can’t decide

I guess I’ll have a look outside

Holy smokes, there’s so much snow!

And off to work I have to go

Down a bowl of Honey Scooters

Throw on a shirt I won at Hooters

Load the tools up in the truck

Another day, another buck

But hold a moment, what’s that I see…

Groups of skiers filled with glee

Smiles and laughter all around

Shouldered skis and poles abound

I contemplate the sick day option

One that I must use with caution

What I really want to say is, “Please!

Please won’t you let me ski the trees?”

But deep inside I realize

That this job I now despise

Is the only way I can afford this

Wretched sum that is my mortgage

And so I heave a heavy sigh

And give a friendly wave goodbye

To a skier with a happy face

Who’s off to find his happy place

Climb on in and start the truck

And maybe with a little luck

I’ll cut out early, but who am I kidding?

Today I’ll do the boss’s bidding

But with thoughts of powder so seductive

Today will be quite unproductive.

My boss on site is quite irate

Just because I am a little late

I tell him that the roads are slick

He just says, “Hop to it, quick!”

I guess this guy can’t comprehend

That on days like this I’d rather spend

My time out skinning through the hills

Seeking soft and fluffy thrills

He barks to me about some job

And I just give a little nod

And dive into his tedious task

I wish I had the guts to ask

Say to him, “Hey, look here dude

I truly intend to not be rude,

But why don’t we just screw this place

And set upon a powder chase.”

Instead I start upon some chore

I’m sure it’s one that I’ll abhor

Like frame this wall or lay this floor

Take out the trash and hang this door

(And what the hell are these parts for?)

All the guys at work are flaunting

Brand new plows and how they’re wanting

To head on home and plow all day

And how they’ll plow the pow’ away

I guess to them the snow is trouble

For they don’t ski, they only shovel.

The slog to five is long and hard

But finally I punch that card

Pick up my stuff and hit the door

And wonder if there’s something more

An existence where I’m free to strive

To break away from 8 to 5

One in which I truly choose

Which sick days I will abuse

I want to live with those who play

And value every powder day

And work with those who understand

That skiing is part of who I am

So I missed another day

As much as I am sad to say

This kind of crap can be a bummer

If this is life, just give me summer

However I’m not filled with sorrow

For I will simply ski tomorrow.

The author, John Minier, penned this poem while working as a tradesman in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Today, John is the owner of Mt. Baker Mountain Guides in Bellingham. Dreams do come true. X