Stuck on the Slopes

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Rachel

T he constant ringing of phones felt like the office was laughing at me, much in the same way a mockingbird would. As I moved past the row of cubicles, the sound amplified and the sun beat through the windows, warming my face already flushed with embarrassment. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the hallway brought in an excessive amount of natural light, revealing the other corporate office buildings wedged between the palm trees around us. I focused my gaze on them, unable to look any of my coworkers in the eye.

When I reached my cubicle, I realized the loudest phone of the bunch was my own, contributing to the chorus. I smacked the button to ignore the call, not in the mood to talk to anyone.

My forehead met my desk. I brought my arms up to cover my head, giving me a moment of silence to collect my thoughts as my knee bounced at the speed of light. The sound of elbows propping up on my cubicle wall a few minutes later eventually forced me to look up and push my bangs out of my face.

I expected whoever approached me to be upset and seeking answers in person, but it was just Jack. His tousled black locks were messy, as usual, with some blue beneath that his layered hair hid mostly well; it was only a matter of time before HR flagged him for that. His paper coffee cup rested on the top of the cubicle wall. From here, I could see some of the steam rising through the small hole in the lid’s cover.

“Uh-oh. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

I nodded and ran my hands over my face. “Performance review.” My palms muffled my voice, so I pushed my reddish-brown curls back and tied them into a messy bun, no longer caring how they looked.

“Oh! Oh no, did it not go well?”

“I guess making record-breaking profits for the company with my latest marketing campaign is only worthy of a Meets Expectations score.” I choked back my pride, the threat of tears and the primal urge to scream. “Three out of five.”

“Wait, for real?” Jack pinched the frame of his oversized glasses as he adjusted them on his nose. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Are you fucking joking right now?”

“I wish, dude. And as much as I’d love to not let it bother me that much, this means the bare minimum raise for me, and with how much my rent is going up…” I couldn’t bring myself to say anymore, so I let my voice trail off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. That’s rough, to say the least.”

“How the hell am I supposed to sit here for the next three hours? How am I supposed to manage the other marketing specialists when I feel like shit?”

Still speaking in a whisper, Jack said, “Just doom scroll on social. If anyone asks, tell them you’re doing market research or something. You’ve got access to the company’s Instagram, right? No one will know!”

Even though his suggestion was tempting, it felt against my very nature. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I do it all the time. People see me on a computer and they assume I’m working. If they see you on a phone? They’ll assume the same. Fuck ‘em. Give yourself the rest of the day off.”

Time theft had never really been my thing. As much as it seemed like teaching an old dog a new trick, I knew he was right. “Thanks, Jack. I needed that.”

He slapped the top of my cubicle wall before walking away, throwing up a peace sign as he did. “You know I got you.”

My mindless scrolling started off as exactly that: mindless. It was hard for me to actually focus on anything on the screen since I was certain every single person who walked past my cubicle was peering over, checking in to see what I was doing. For good measure, I’d make a point of refreshing my email every few minutes, both to keep my active green bubble on Slack and also to look less suspicious. My eyes darted to the top of the cubicle wall every time I heard so much as a shuffle. If whoever was at the desk across from me suddenly stopped typing, it caught my attention, too. But every time, it was just them going to the bathroom.

For the next two hours, my heart both raced and burned, so when it didn’t pass, I finally emerged from my desk. I took slow steps to the break room, which was thankfully empty. After walking around the long, white table where everyone usually ate their lunch. I opened the medicine cabinet as quietly as I could, but the latch snapped with a grating pop and the hinges on the door creaked. I rummaged through, feeling like a thief in the night despite having every right to grab something for my heartburn. I landed on an individually packaged, single serving dose of generic antacids and popped them in my mouth on the way to the bathroom.

It took everything in me to not start crying as I closed the stall door. The entire office was white, sterile, and lifeless, and the bathroom was no exception. The overhead lights gave me an instant headache, which didn’t help my predicament.

I wasn’t sure if being this close to a mental breakdown over the evaluation meant the doom scrolling was making matters better or worse.

By some miracle of God, I didn’t cry in the bathroom, nor did I break down for the rest of the workday. I got away with continuing to doom scroll, which eventually became mindless once more. None of my emails were urgent, as if everyone knew that today was not the day to ask me for any requests or reports.

Walking to my car felt more mortifying than any walk of shame in college ever had. With the late summer heat, sweat stuck to my skin the second I’d left the air-conditioned office—I’d call it a haven from the humidity, but it would seem Hell was, in fact, real, and it had central air. Once I was in my car, I rested my tote bag on the passenger seat, locked the doors, then opened a music app and selected a playlist that was a bit different from my usual.

Early 2000s emo hits ought to do the trick.

As I scream-sung along to lyrics that expressed I was very much not okay, I let my tears freely flow. The palm trees passed by me in a blur, standing tall and gently swaying in the breeze, unbothered by the world around them. As the traffic on the busy, west Orlando roads made my commute thirty minutes longer than it should have been, I envied them for it.

Most of the license plates around me read New York or New Jersey, a sign the snowbirds were back. While this had always been a problem that made me detest the Northerners fleeing the cold, now that we were back in the office post-COVID procedures, it was worse. All of the tourists didn’t help traffic, either. The office wasn’t far from most of the theme parks, meaning folks in Mickey ears driving rental cars were always passing by. The pandemic only slowed them down for a few short months. In the years since lockdown procedures lifted, it’d only gotten busier. It didn’t feel like there was an off season anymore.

By the time I pulled into my apartment complex’s parking lot, my eyes were bloodshot and swollen. I didn’t even bother to wipe the black tear stains that ran down my cheeks, unsure if it was from my mascara, eyeliner, or both until I got to my apartment and headed straight for my bathroom. After washing my face, I grabbed my Gua Sha kit, hoping the ritual would help reduce some of the puffiness before it could get any worse.

Into some leggings and an oversized T-shirt, I planned to do nothing other than binge crappy reality television shows on Netflix for the rest of the day. I ran through my options. The first was I could call my dad. Ever the Rabbi, he was full of sound advice and kind words of wisdom that would more than likely uplift me. He blended wise words from the Torah with his own life experiences, both talking me off the ledge and helping me come to my own conclusions.

Alternatively, there was my sister Sarah. Even though Sarah was a few years younger than me and wrapping up grad school, we were all but attached at the hip. Or, I could text one of my sorority sisters, like my “Big” sister Michaela or my “Little” Ariana. Catching up with them may help take my mind off of things.

But instead, I retreated within myself. As newly-paired couples fought over dumb, mindless issues on my TV screen, I scrolled through job listings on LinkedIn, hoping to find a diamond in the rough. After ensuring my resume was updated and I’d switched on the feature that let recruiters know I was open to working, I found myself mass-applying well into the night for anything and everything that seemed relevant, pausing only for a dinner break.

One job listing, however, stopped me in my tracks. There was a job position for an Assistant Resort Manger at a ski lodge out in Colorado. Either LinkedIn glitched or there was some paid promotion boosting the job listing, because I’d only set my search parameters for other companies here in Florida—but despite that, the idea of moving somewhere where I wouldn’t sweat off all my makeup whenever I stepped outside sounded appealing, so I tapped into it.

After all, if I was this wrapped up in my work, getting far away from here might be for the best.

The company profile showed photos of an old resort that saw a steady decline in guests. The only post was a news article from nine months ago saying it had been purchased and would undergo renovations before reopening to the public. The lodge looked beautiful: a massive, five-story wood and brick building that sat atop a snowy mountain. Private log cabins lined the edge of the property with ski trails and snowboarding half pipes, looking like something out of a fairytale or an ASMR video.

I combed through the listing, not automatically applying without paying it any thought. The owner needed someone to assist with getting the place ready to open before they hired the front desk, resort operations, groundskeeping, and housekeeping staff. At the bottom, one line caught my attention: “Marketing and/or resort operations experience preferred as this role may evolve as needs change.”

When I went back to the listing, I caught a glimpse of how many people were in the running. Compared to the other jobs I’d one-click applied to, the number was comically low. This was meant to be. I was sure of it. Here was my chance, staring me in the face, to walk away from a company that didn’t care about me half as much as I cared about it.

So, I whipped up a personalized cover letter, submitted it along with my resume, and hit send. I glanced at the time: it was already midnight. I’d been at this for hours—all day, really. All the more proof I needed a change.

When I finally allowed myself to rest and my head hit my pillow, I could only think one thing, how on earth was I supposed to go to work tomorrow like today never happened?

My entire morning felt like a blur. I tossed and turned more than I slept, and even the largest-sized iced coffee wasn’t helping my energy levels. On the way here, I’d chugged half of it and set the rest on the coaster I kept on my desk next to my water bottle. It wasn’t long before the sun got to work, melting the ice and building condensation on the cup.

I spent the day scrolling on my phone or refreshing my email again. Even if it was just a simple, “I’ll look into it!” to shut them up. I only replied to whatever felt urgent or to resort requests so they wouldn’t be left hanging.

Normally, I grabbed lunch with a few coworkers, Jack included. As our favorite IT employee, Jack had an honorary spot on the Marketing and Brand Development team, but when he came to check on me, I lied and said I wasn’t hungry. When they all went to the break room, I went to my car where I ate a pre-packed lunch alone so I could gather my thoughts. I was at a high risk of combustion, potentially literally, like I was stuck in a bad action movie with a low CGI budget.

Talking to anyone was hard after yesterday—not because the performance review didn’t go well, but because of the implications of it and how I reacted. I felt foolish; after all, I still had a job when so many here in Central Florida struggled, and it was ridiculous to not be grateful I got a Meets Expectations instead of a pink slip.

But it still didn’t sit right.

Ten minutes into my lunch break, my phone rang. When I saw the 970-area code flash across my phone, I scrambled for it. Not caring if I seemed too eager by answering right away, I held the phone to my ear and put on my best customer service voice. It was probably half an octave higher than my usual tone.

“This is Rachel!”

“Hi, Rachel Friedman? This is Juniper Hart from the lodge.”

Upon hearing Juniper’s voice, I wondered why I’d worried about my tone. I’d never heard someone more monotonous. If his flat delivery didn’t make him sound so bored, I’d almost dare say his deep voice was sultry.

“Hi, Juniper! Nice to meet you.”

“Rachel, right? You too. Thanks for your time today.”

“Of course! Thank you.”

“Well, I’m going to cut to the chase. This isn’t exactly my area of expertise. I’m sure you’re used to an HR person running these things.”

“Hey, no big deal.”

“Great. So, it’s only me here. I’ve had some contractors come out to do some of the heavy lifting, literally and figuratively, but there’s still a lot to be done to this place. This lodge desperately needs help on a day-to-day basis, but what caught my eye on your resume was your marketing experience. It looks like you’re at a pretty well-established company. You do know I can’t guarantee this place will survive the winter, right?”

“Sure. I understand that starting a new business comes with its risks, but I’m willing to take the plunge.”

“Listen, I’m sure you can do the job. You saw the listing. It’s labor intensive, sure, but nothing earth-shattering. Would you agree?”

Harshly said, but true. “Yeah, I would.”

“So then, what made you want to apply?”

“I see a real opportunity for growth,” I said. “Once the lodge is ready to open, you’ll need marketing support, which I can provide. I’ve run resort launch campaigns for new locations, so I’m confident we could drum up some buzz and get some great PR going. So, once there’s no longer as much of a need for intense groundskeeping, I could evolve into more of a marketing role.”

He whistled. “Wow, you’ve got your corporate lingo down. But I get what you’re saying.”

I grit my teeth, trying not to take it too personally—after all, he was right, but I didn’t want to draw attention to it and botch the interview. With his bored tone, it was hard enough to tell if it was going well or horrifically.

So, to put a positive spin on the slight dig, I said, “I’m confident my corporate experience can help once it’s time to launch, so that way the lodge is a smash hit. Thanks to that, I’m used to managing multiple resorts’ marketing campaigns at once, so I look forward to seeing what I can do when dedicating all of my time and resources to one.”

“I cannot stress this question enough. Even if that comes with a massive risk?” His voice still held that edge, and it was sharp enough to make me feel as though he could see right through my soul without even being in the same room.

“I’d say so.”

“I believe you, by the way, about what you could do for marketing this place. Your resume is admittedly really impressive.”

Maybe this wasn’t going as horribly as I thought. I could salvage this. “It’s why I have so much faith that this will be a worthwhile risk. And either way, I’m looking forward to the change of pace. My career’s gone fairly stagnant in my current position, so tangible growth will give it a nice refresh.”

“You’re in Orlando, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“When were you looking to relocate?”

The question surprised me, only because I wasn’t expecting him to ask so soon. Ever the people pleaser, I said, “I can be flexible.”

“Well, I don’t expect you to uproot your entire life in a few short days. We’re about a week into August. Would September first work for you?”

My apartment had little in it these days; I’d sold a lot of my nice-to-have luxuries in attempts to scrape together extra change. “Yeah, I can make that work.”

“And don’t worry about living arrangements. I’m not sure if I remembered to include this in the job listing, but if you want, I can set one of the suite-style rooms aside for you. I’m staying in one myself. They’re pretty nice.”

His lack of enthusiasm didn’t convince me, but a lack of rent payment sure did. “Oh! That’s very kind of you. That would be great, actually. Would that come out of my salary, or...?”

“What? No.” He sounded offended, the most emotion I’d gotten out of him the entire call. “Speaking of which, does $80,000 a year sound good for you to start?”

My blood went cold. That would be a $30,000 raise, and I hadn’t even mentioned my current salary. Not wanting to push my luck, I swallowed the urge to squeal with delight and said, “Yeah, that works for me.”

“Great. I’ll email you the paperwork. Is the one on your resume good?”

“Yes, it is.” I was still in a trance at the idea of free rent and a decent pay bump. I should have rage applied to jobs years ago.

“This is my personal number, so if you have any questions, feel free to text or call. Assuming you sign, see you on the first.”

“Thanks so much, Juniper. I’m looking forward to it!”

When I returned to my desk, all the good vibes I’d been hoping would kick in from the massive intake of caffeine this morning shot through my system. My hand shook as I scrolled through the paperwork, shameless about viewing it on my work computer.

A lot could go wrong if I e-signed that bottom line. But on the other hand, at this rental rate, I wouldn’t have a place to live for much longer. So, I drew my signature for the documents, submitted them to Juniper, typed up a two-week notice letter, and then knocked on my boss’s door.

“Rachel! Come on in.” He ran a hand over his gelled-back blond hair. “What can I do for you?”

“I have some news. I wanted to tell you and hand you this in person,” I said as I slipped the letter across his desk. “It’s my two-week’s notice. I’ve received a unique opportunity I’m afraid I can’t pass up.”

“Oh!” With a slight slack in his jaw and his eyebrows raised, he looked genuinely surprised. “Well, congratulations. If this is about yesterday, Rachel, would you like to talk about it? I’m sure we can work something out.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Thank you, though. I’ve learned a lot over the years here and I’m grateful for that.” Not a total lie, but a carefully worded version of the truth. “My next opportunity is taking me to Colorado.”

Saying the words aloud made it all feel real somehow. After I walked away from his office, I didn’t bother working for the rest of the afternoon. I simply scrolled through Instagram, browsing the location markers and hashtags of the ski lodge I’d be stepping foot in next month. As I went starry-eyed over the photos and videos of the mountains, I hoped this adventure would do me good.