“What the fuck is this shit??” exclaimed Emmanuel Bossou, who was clearly underdressed as he braced against a Breckenridge, CO blizzard in a Miami Heat hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. A driving gale blew sheaths of snow into his grimacing face. “This is bullshit!”
Bossou desperately tried to warm himself by a fireplace in a nearby ski lodge. He was wet, shivering violently, and very upset.
“You watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, and Polar Express, and Snow Dogs growing up, and you think snow’s this magical substance floating down from the sky that you use to build snowmen and have snowball fights,” explained Bossou. “But it’s not!”
“People in Miami always complain about the heat,” he continued. “But if I step outside in 100 degrees, I’m going to sweat and be uncomfortable. If you step outside in this shit,” he pointed out an adjacent window. “You fucking die.”
I inquired if he planned on skiing, to which he reacted as if I suggested he jump off a cliff. “No, I don’t want to hurtle down a mountain with a pair of sticks strapped on my feet,” he replied with a searing glare. “What I actually want is to sit on a beach with a beer and not worry about my face freezing off.”
Bossou rose from his seat and grabbed a blanket from a nearby couch. “I’m taking this,” he said. “And I’m going home.”
As he turned to leave, I asked if he would ever take another vacation above the snow line. “As far as I’m concerned,” declared Bossou forthrightly. “The only place with frozen water I’ll ever visit is my freezer.”
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