“This truly is a four-season resort,” I was thinking to myself.
Sittin’ in the sun on Dusty’s smokin’ patio on a recent globally-warmed, pre-spring, spring day, I was wallowing in the third season—second beer—of the day. It was obviously the kind of activity capable of inducing deep, philosophical thoughts… or reducing them to vacuous marketing or political slogans.
Since heading up, I’d skied ice, creamy snow, corn snow and finally dirty schmoo. If it had only rained a few minutes, the day would have qualified as a Total Whistler Experience.
There was hope in my chest winter would/will return, just as it had after our last faux spring break in February, but there was also a nagging premonition it wouldn’t. This year, 2024, was, hopefully still is, going to be the best year for spring skiing. Why? For the first time in a long time, Whistler Mountain stays open late while they shoehorn a new Jersey Cream lift in across the valley.
I had a standing order with the best waitress the United Kingdom ever produced to replenish whatever I was drinking whenever my glass fell below the one-inch mark, order to stand until further notice. Judging by its rate of descent, I reckoned the sun had another hour or so before it was punctured by the jagged peaks of the Tantalus Range and late winter returned to reclaim the patio. At my current rate of consumption that would be another—divide by four, carry the two—math is hard... a few more refreshing beverages.
I closed my eyes and let the sun beat down on me.
“Paisan! Long damn time, no see-um.” The voice croaked out of nowhere.
Sometimes, when my body, maybe yours too, is weary from a hard day of work or a harder day of play, and I close my eyes and stare at the inside of my eyelids and the sun’s shining really hard, after awhile, sometimes, a very psychedelic checkerboard swirly pattern begins to mess with my confused optical nerve, creating a vortex sort of effect and making everything feel very, very strange.
But not as strange as having that feeling interrupted by J.J.
Even with my eyes still closed, I could hear him finish my beer. But I didn’t hear him walking away. Instead, I heard the sound of a metal chair scraping across the patio’s bricks and the whoomph of his bulk sitting down.
“J.J.,” I said, eyes still closed, hoping I was wrong, knowing I wasn’t. “I thought you’d checked out of this place for fresh horizons or something. It’s been… a long time? I guess.”
“Hey, man, you can check out any time you’d like, but you can…”
“No J.J., don’t do this to me. Noooo…”
“…never leave.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, J.J. If you’re going to sit down, drink my beer, con me out of a few more—and I know you are—The Rule stands. This—encircling the sonic space around me—is an Eagles-free zone. No Eagles. No John Denver. No pseudo-philosophy gleaned from American Pie. Ever! Capiche?”
“Sorry, dude. Just messin’ witcha.”
J.J., Whistler’s only private eye, has been messin’ wit’ me for as long as I’ve been in town. One of those shadowy figures this place has in abundance. He claimed to be ex-CIA, ex-National Security, etc. Claimed to be drinking buddies with Mark Felt and know what really happened to Jimmy Hoffa. In short, a sociopath who could be relied on to spin a good tale and drink on your tab until you cut him off.
“So, I know I’ll be sorry, but what are you up to these days?” I asked, sorrily.
“I’m a consulting on Whistler’s Big Movements,” he said, motioning for another round.
“I think you mean Big Moves? But I like the unintended association,” I replied.
“Whatever.”
“Really,” I said. “I guess that explains a couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like why the Big Moves aren’t quite living up to the hoped-for accomplishments. Let’s face it, J.J., you’re about the least green person I know. You still think recycle means grabbing someone’s bike and going for a ride? And aside from that, I’m having trouble believing anyone at muni hall would be crazy enough to bring you on to consult about anything, unless freeloading has become a municipal priority.”
“Ouch. You’re harshin’ my buzz, dude. I’m a troubleshooter from way back and yeah, there’s trouble meetin’ the goals set out by the Big Movem... Moves.”
“So, don’t take this the wrong way, J.J, but how’d you get hired on as a consultant? I mean, you have what most people would consider absolutely no qualifications whatsoever for the job.”
“I just started submitting invoices,” he said. “You think anyone would really notice?”
I looked at him in stunned silence. Was he kidding? Was this another ridiculous J.J. statement? Was he trying to see if he could push me far enough to pick up a beer glass and wallop him upside the head with it?
“Okay, J.J. Please tell me you’re just kidding. You’re not really submitting invoices into the abyss and getting paid, are you?”
“You think I’m lying. Well, ask yourself this question. You of all people know I obviously have no visible means of support. It’s not like the P.I. business is exactly brisk. Covid pretty much killed it. S’not like you can sleuth on Zoom, you know. I caught on to this consultant thing a decade ago reading about the Phoenix pay system for federal employees. It seemed like such a boondoggle I began submitting invoices under a phoney baloney IT consulting firm name. Imagine my surprise when cheques began coming in?”
“Bullsh....”
“Seriously, dude. The whole consultant thing really is transparent. Invisible would be a better word. Everybody knows IT anything is expensive, rarely works and is overseen by people who don’t understand it to begin with. If most of those boondoggles were dogs, you’d have them put down long ago.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“I thought I was getting paid pretty well. But then I started billing for ArriveCan. Cha-ching!”
“Oh sweet Jesus. Say it ain’t so.”
“It is sooo so. But now that the heat’s on in Ottawa about that, I thought I’d try fishin’ a little closer to home.”
“And the muni is paying you?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think they’re that loose with their controls. And you live here. You really want them after you?”
“No. That’s why I’m billing in your name.”
“What?!”
“Calm down. Think of it as an early April Fools joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You’ll think it’s more amusing after another beer.”
