Backstory: The Ski Hangover

It’s 2:30 p.m. on December 23, and I feel awful. I am exhausted, and my heels and lower back feel as if someone is driving hot, dull knives into them. I have been on my feet since 5:30 a.m., working a retail window at the post office, and an unending line of people before me are looking to mail Christmas letters and packages. I try to hide my discomfort, and I try not to think of the five long days between now and my next day off.