Nutty Hubby and I spent a week up in Whistler in mid-October.
We timed our visit poorly in that we arrived directly following Canadian Thanksgiving, which is exactly when the gondolas up the mountain stop operating and most of our favorite restaurants shut their doors for the brief off-season between summer mountain activities and winter mountain activities.
On the bright side, the place was way less packed with people than usual, we still managed to do plenty of hiking, and we actually found a bunch of new favorite restaurants since we couldn’t just keep heading to our old standbys and had to branch out.
We did stay at our usual hotel, which I both love and hate because the suites are giant and have up-to-date technology (love! <3) but apparently no one who installed any of the outlet and switch plates knew what a level was or how to use one (so much hate).
The suites come with kitchenettes, which I also love, but whose tiled floors are more slippery than a freshly Zamboni’d ice rink. I thought I was safe in my favorite cozy grippy socks, but I guess they’re starting to fail in the grippy department because on the way to the sink to rinse a plate I wiped out and went down like a sack of potatoes. In my panic to not break the plate or myself, I managed to hook my arm over a nearby dining chair to slow my fall. This was a good idea with an ugly result:
Also for whatever reason the hotel seems to think this is an appropriate method of offering salt and pepper to their guests:
Thankfully, having decided to put The Elimination Diet of Sadness somewhat on hiatus for the month of October while we celebrated various things, I was able to soothe my bruised ego – if not my bruised underarm – with seasonal tipples, gourmet food, and ice cream sundaes with all the fixin’s.
We couldn’t have asked for more beautiful weather for our hikes.
Or more entertaining signage.
We also relocated this little dude, who was trying his best to get murdered via cyclist on one of the lakeside trails. He’s gonna turn into a Western Tiger Swallowtail someday if he gets his shit together and learns to look both ways before crossing the road.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, and before we knew it it was our last morning in the mountains. After checking out of the hotel we stalled for a good couple of hours and then hit up one last restaurant for lunch before the drive home.
Which is where I encountered one of the most perplexing bathroom stall fixes I think I’ve ever come across as a public washroom user.
This isn’t like an “I live in the middle of nowhere and my outhouse latch broke so I guess I’ll raid the toolbox for whatever I can use to keep the bears out while I do my business” situation we’re talking about here. This is an established restaurant in the heart of a resort town. Y’all can do better than a turnbuckle and some screws as a makeshift latch, I don’t care what you say.
The best part was how even when “latched” the door still hung slightly open, so the danger of someone assuming the stall was empty and trying to enter unawares was ever-present. Just in case you like your bodily functions with a heaping side of nervous suspense.
It’s a good thing we don’t live in Zombieland.