Indispensability

We’d all like to be indispensable at one time or another. Sometimes you plan to be that way and other times it’s accidental. This is about the latter.

I started work at Nakiska Ski Hill in 1987, in preparation for the 1988 Olympics. In case you think I’m dating myself, remember I started working when I was eight years old. Or was it six?

Anyway, I signed on as the Radio Operator for the Ski Patrol and the liaison between the hill staff and outside agencies, like the Ranger Rescue Service and the RCMP, just to drop some names.

Now, most of the ski hill employees had never worked with a radio operator before. Everyone used to shout out on the radios or phones until the person they wanted got the message. While quite a bit of fun, it was not terribly efficient. At Nakiska, everyone on the hill was told to call the Radio Room if they needed anything. After all, they were paying me (sort of) and wanted their money’s worth. Hotdog buns at Mid-Mountain Lodge, a millwright at the Gold Chair, clean up on Aisle Two in the Rental Shop. Actually, Rentals had to clean up their own mess, so ignore the last one.

Now, my office was quite something. Room for a desk, a chair and a key cabinet on the wall and a teeny, tiny window that looked out at a light post. I believe it was supposed to be a janitor’s closet, but they hired me and needed a place to keep me out of the way. I like to think that they didn’t want anyone to know the prize they had. Then again, maybe not…

Because I had this prime piece of real estate in the office, it was rare that anyone other than the office staff ever saw me. I was the voice on the phone or the radio. Unseen but always heard.

I had never worked at a ski hill before, so a lot of the requests escaped me at first. I was getting calls from lift operators about chair three arm jumping a cam and caught in a ratchet, millwrights calling and saying to take down the line so they can adjust the hootchie-kootchie do-ins-piece so the shivs don’t rattle, and ski patrollers saying mortar two had a misfire and to evacuate the Gold Chair.

After my first such call, I said to the caller, “I’ve another call coming in, I’ll get right back to you.” Then I hung up the phone and sat back to think about the request. The best I could come up with was “huh?”. Then I spent the next three or four minutes phoning every department I could, to see if they found any of the message the least bit intelligible. When I found the right department, I repeated – verbatim – what the original caller said to me and took down exactly what the other guy said. I then called back the original caller and repeated – verbatim – what the expert said.

This method of information exchange became habit for me and I really didn’t think too much about it until one day I was in the main lodge for lunch. I was standing in the cafeteria line behind some lift operators, who were filling in a newcomer on the way things worked at Nakiska. I didn’t pay too much attention to them until one of the guys said, “And if you ever have any questions, like, call the Radio Room. That guy knows absolutely everything about anything! And he knows everyone! He always has an answer in, like, seconds!”

Not having a name tag on, the liftees didn’t have a clue I was standing behind them. I was about to let them know who I was when it hit me. I was indispensable! Who knew? Let’s not spoil a good thing. I felt like a kindred spirit to those studio announcers that no one ever sees. A heady feeling – I could be a star! The only thing I couldn’t figure out was how to get free drinks out of it. Still working on that….