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Survival skills for newcomers to B.C.

Welcome to Whistler, Backwards Capital of Canada.

Welcome to Whistler, Backwards Capital of Canada.

Lest you take offence at me labeling your — new, for those of you who have just arrived and are still awaiting official status as Instant Locals; long-time, for those of you who have been here at least 18 months — happy mountain town backwards, I’d like to explain why, in the words of the self-help industry, I’m right and you’re less right, or, what we used to call simply wrong before scientists discovered the vital role self-esteem plays in making us all happy to be mediocre.

In all of Canada, from sea to sea to sea, and in most of the rest of the world, dry, sunny and warmer weather is considered good. At least better than wet, dismal, colder weather. By a long shot. But if you were half awake and wandering the village earlier this week when it was dry, sunny and warm, you would have noticed two seemingly distinct human reactions to the weather.

One reaction was a very human mélange of depression, rage, malaise and utter disgust. People suffering from this emotional soup could be seen shaking their fists at the sun, muttering muffled obscenities and gazing forlornly skyward. Behind their public mask of disappointment they were, simultaneously, at their wit’s end and near tears. They sublimated by going for runs, long bike rides and salved their anger with alcohol and recreational drugs. Groups of them could be heard forming impromptu posses and discussing admittedly vague plans to round up a virgin to sacrifice to Ullr, Norse god of snow. As if.

Professionals in the touchy-feely world of psychology consider these reactions healthy. Far more troubling were the very few malcontents lying about actually pretending they were enjoying the warm sunshine. The same caring professionals were quick to label these poor, deluded souls as suffering in the, quite possibly terminal, throes of Denial. They could be seen mingling among them, offering words of healing and encouragement, passing out business cards and administering much needed hugs.

Only in a backward town is good weather so soul-sappingly bad and bad weather exuberantly good. And let’s admit it, at this point, you’d sell your mama for a really good — bad? — snowstorm, wouldn’t you?

So what happens when that snowstorm finally arrives? Well, in most of the rest of the world, when people awake to find, say, three feet — 90 centimetres or 900 millimetres if you really want to blow the minds of your metric-challenged friends — of snow has fallen overnight, their first instinct is to slip back into their warm beds and hope they were just dreaming. When they find out they weren’t, they panic. They can’t get to work, their kids can’t get to school which, in any event, has been cancelled. If they live in Toronto the mayor calls out the army to shovel snow and keep order. If they live elsewhere, they shovel themselves and many, sadly, succumb to heart attacks when the previous evening’s Cheezies lodge in a coronary artery. The survivors band together in neighbourhood posses and go hunting for virgins to appease Rllu, the Norse god of antisnow. These are all considered normal reactions to heartbreaking natural disasters, which is what they call deep snowstorms.

In Whistler, under such circumstances, business answering machines all over town are flipped over to the snowstorm message: “Thank you for calling (insert name here). I’m attending a business seminar today and the office is closed until 4:30 this afternoon. Please leave a message.” Everyone goes skiing, save the poor, unfortunate mountain employees who are stuck working on such epic days. With luck, the road up from Vancouver is closed and everybody’s EQ — Emotional Quality — skyrockets. These reactions are considered normal only in a backwards town.

Now that you understand why you’re living in the Backwards Capital of Canada, let’s talk about surviving in B.C. while you patiently await your Instant Local status. You always thought that meant British Columbia, didn’t you?

Before we jump into the Really Good Advice, let’s just take a moment to congratulate you on your choice of moving to Whistler and, as I’m certain you’ve heard your parents say already, repeatedly, wasting your education. You are truly remarkable people. I’m sure you already know that, having been reminded of it by nearly everyone you’ve come into contact with your whole, albeit very brief, lives. But in this case, it’s actually true! Instead of staying in the Old Country — Ontario — and going to work at a bank or your mother’s insurance brokerage, you’ve chucked it all for a little excitement and what wanly passes for a lifestyle fueled by sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll in an era where sex is meaningless, drugs are mainstream and rock ’n’ roll has been relegated to insipid Golden Oldies stations. If you don’t know what I’m talking about and your iPod only contains house, techno, hip-hop and rap, look it up on Wikipedia. Or just skip over it and go right to the cartoon at the bottom of the page.

The single most important skill you need for surviving in Whistler is something you undoubtedly already possess. It isn’t common sense — audible sigh of relief — and it isn’t a fearlessness in the face of disaster, although you’ll need that later. It’s your finely-honed ability to hit your folks up for money. No matter how much you brought with you, no matter how much you make slingin’ lattes or whatever you end up doing, it won’t be enough unless you live the kind of life you’d be living if you lived somewhere else.

It’s vitally important you take some time now, while you can still think straight, and come up with a list of good excuses why you need your parents to send money. “My car needs fixing” might work once but it doesn’t have the same parent-wrenching gut punch as “I got hurt and OHIP won’t cover the ambulance bill; send five-hundred dollars quick.” Once you have your list, get together with a friend and practice your delivery. The goal here is to make that little choked-up catch in your voice sound real. And I think it goes without saying you don’t make those kind of calls from a bar, capiche?

The second most important survival skill is staying healthy. In Normal World, that generally means getting plenty of rest, eating a healthy diet, and at least knowing the name of whomever you’re sleeping with.

In Backwards World none of that is possible. The best defense against communicable disease here is this: don’t trust the dishwasher in any bar in town. Drink only bottled beer. Oh yeah, and it helps if you don’t kiss before you have sex.

Other than that, good luck, you special, special people.