Jackson Hole Retirement Village

Beer…maybe the world’s most perfect beverage. Refreshing, tasty, and alcoholic. When I have it in a glass, I find it hard not to quaff it down as fast as I can. Its like it has a spell on me…I’m staring at it right now and getting lost in it’s beautiful bubbly yellow haze…it’s almost hypnotic…yeah…I’m gonna suck that beer down right now! No!! Wait! It’s better to enjoy slowly and in moderation, right? To drink it with quiet class and sophistication? Enjoying every sip? Too late, its already gone.

Now on to what I was really going to write about. During the summer, Jackson Hole is invaded by tourists and seasonal home owners (a.k.a. rich old people). I know that I wrote about this subject 2 years ago when I was here during the summer, but maybe you forgot, like I did, how painful the summers are here. As a full-time Jackson resident, it is my job to welcome the summer influx of humanity with a smile and a readiness to take their money. The summer season is the most lucrative for pretty much every business in town except the ski resort. So, when hordes of tourists come knocking for food, beds, and endless activities, the local businesses give them what they want at an only slightly inflated price than normal.

I get somewhat of an insiders look at how the seasonal elderly population enjoys their free time since I live in a neighborhood surrounded by them. I live in a well-to-do old couple’s guest house in the middle of a rich peoples’ neighborhood. I don’t think the people around here like me too much. When I’m driving home it is not unusual for me to receive blank and questioning stares from the neighbors. “Who is that guy? And what the fuck is he doing in our neighborhood?!” You see, old rich people enjoy younger people when they are getting them something to drink, or helping them up the stairs, or mowing their lawn. But if you are invading what they consider to be their safe-haven from young people, in this case, an upscale Jackson Hole subdivision next to a golf course, they don’t like it at all. If I was like, 10 years old they wouldn’t care; little kids are fine for the neighborhood, probably the neighbor’s grandkids. But I’m 26 and I have long hair and drive a dirty car while playing loud music at all hours of the night. Pretty much everything old people don’t like about young people.

I remember driving home in the early evening from work and waving at some people, who I assumed were neighbors, who were out walking their dog enjoying the sunset. As soon as they saw my car heading their direction they grabbed their dog to keep it from getting hit. Not that I was going to hit the dog or was I driving that fast, but to an old man who wants this to be his retirement neighborhood, I’m sure I was going way too fast. I smiled and waved while passing them and they just stared at me. Not necessarily angry stares, just stares of disappointment. Disappointment that all of their money still couldn’t keep young people like me out away from them when they finally decided to retire to an exclusive Jackson Hole neighborhood. They hate me. And really my only crime is being young.

Now that I’m here I guess they will have to get used to the idea that a young guy might be blaring music from his small guest house while they go for a morning bike ride, or that I might be lifting weights in my boxers in my frontyard, or that they have to watch out for a dirty Ford Taurus tearing down their road at 10p.m. I’m sad to say I might be ruining their perfect retirement. The good part is that come winter, they all migrate back to Florida. I appreciate their money, but they don’t really belong here. If you can’t handle a real winter somewhere, why bother showing up for the summer? Oh yeah, that’s right…they’re rich and they get to do whatever they want. Oh well. At least I get to take a small pleasure in the fact that my being young gives them something to grumble about every morning.

Jackson Cab Driver, A Portrait of

"How many pints of vodka and rum can I get for 100 bucks?" This was the question put to me on an otherwise normal night working at the liquor store.
"Uh...I'm not sure," I responded, since this is not the kind of information I keep in my already over-loaded brain. I took a second to look over who was asking this strange question. It was a large fat man, probably around 45 years old. He is one of those people who when you find yourself interacting with them, you don't forget it. This is not because of his eloquent speech or impecable good smell, however. No, it is because of his loathesome ugliness. (Maybe "loathesome" is too strong a word, he wasn't disfigured or anything, but I like that word so I'm gonna use it.) He was around 250 pounds, balding, unshaven, sweaty, and smelly...probably.

"100 bucks, let's see, I'd say like 8 or 9 pints of cheap booze," I guessed after pretending to do some mental math. I looked back at him, waiting for the next curveball this guy was undoubtedly going to throw me.

"Yeah I gotta use the full 100 dollars. It's for this lady's cab fare," he jerked his head over his shoulder, motioning towards a pretty lady standing behind him.

The lady decided to explain. "I got in a car accident and I have to get back to Alpine tonight and I don't have any cash, so I'm buying this alcohol for the cab driver." After realizing the situation she was getting herself into she quickly asked the cabbie, "You're not gonna drink it while you're driving are you?"

"Naw...I wouldn't do that. I'll save it for later." So this guy is a cab driver, I came to understand, and he is having this lady pay him for cab fare in pints of cheap alcohol since she has no cash and only a credit card? I felt sorry for the lady, especially since this was the cab that our store had called for her when she came in a few minutes earlier. Now after totalling her car in an accident, she had to buy 100 dollars worth of booze for a fat, disgusting cab driver, so that he would drive her the 45 minutes to Alpine. My mind was instantly filled with horrible ideas of the worst possible outcomes to this scenario, which I won't elaborate on here since they are pretty morbid.

I realized I had seen this cab driver before in our store. He had tried to buy a bunch of pints with a money order, which I had never had happen before.

"What is this?" I had asked him when he showed me a wadded up Western Union money order.
"It's a money order. You know, you go to the gas station and buy them. I buy them all the time. It's the same as cash."
"Uh...I'll have to ask my manager. I don't know if we take these."
"Why? I use 'em all the time. Of course you take 'em."
"Well I'm asking anyways, 'cause I have no idea what it is."
"You don't use money orders? How do you pay your bills?"
I have a checking account and also internet banking. No one uses money orders. Just you, you fat ass.

After we got that straightened out he asked if he could have a small box. I told him all we had was big boxes. He didn't believe me and insisted that I give him a small box. Then I insisted that we didn't have any and he could get them at the post office for a low price. He finally left.

So that is my history of the fat cab driver. I hope I never have to ride with that guy. He is scary looking and very annoying. I hope that lady made it home to Alpine okay.

This is a prime example of how I like to come up with horrible ideas about a person I barely know based only on their outward appearance and a few brief interactions. I could speculate on what that guy's life is like, but that seems pointless since I can sum it up in a single word, "pathetic." But for some reason I like writing about pathetic people, as you would know if you read this blog at all. They are a lot more interesting to me than writing about some rich guy I may have met who is the CEO of some multinational corporation, whose life has been nothing but successful. Who wants to read about that?