Dream vs. Reality: Ski Instructor

Is the seasonal job worth it?

When it comes to seasonal work around Bozeman, the labor force spreads out across all types of jobs come summer—landscaping, firefighting, funemployment, etc.—but in winter, it coalesces around one: working as a ski instructor. After all, what could be more fulfilling than teaching people to ski, not to mention all the pro-deals, the tight-knit community, and flexible scheduling to make the most of powder days? Plus, all the cash tips provide suitable spending money for a shoulder-season trip to Moab. But is ski instructing really as glorious of a job as it appears to be? Let’s find out.

“The kids and I would love to see you one last time before we fly out,” Mom says with a wink.

Dream
It does not get better than this—a bluebird day with 12 inches of fluffy white powder. From your slopeside apartment, rented from a family friend, it’s a short walk to the base area, leaving plenty of time to sip coffee and soak in the day. “Mornin’,” the snowsports director smiles, as he tops off the coffee-maker and opens a box of donuts. “You’ve got another private request for that family out of New Hampshire.” That means double pay—what a score. The mom greets you with a huge smile, and the kiddos look like they could be Red Bull athletes. Turns out, all they need are a few pointers on skiing Rocky Mountain powder, and it’s off to the races. After a morning skiing untracked runs, they buy you lunch at the chalet—prime rib—and ask if you you’d like to join them for dinner and drinks that evening at their Airbnb. “The kids and I would love to see you one last time before we fly out,” Mom says with a wink. You accept, but before you can leave, she pulls out $250. That makes $600, cash, in the three days you’ve spent with them. That’s enough for a full month of bills, plus a few bar tabs. Right now, though, there’s time to spare, which means party laps with the other instructors. After catching the last chair, you return to the locker room, throw your boots on a dryer, and grab your personal, embroidered Gore-Tex jacket. That evening, while walking to the Airbnb, you reflect on what an incredible season it’s been—and it’s only half over! Without a doubt, becoming a ski instructor was the best decision you ever made.

Reality
You’re jolted awake by an aggressive knock on your bedroom door. “Get up, shithead! We’ve gotta go.” No time to pick out clean clothes, but you fell asleep in your week-old long underwear again last night, so they’ll work for another day. Your ride—a stoner coworker—hustles you out the door and speeds away from the dilapidated rental you guys share with four strangers for $975 a month—each. There’s bumper-to-bumper traffic, and what should be an hour-long drive takes nearly two. Over the radio, the weatherman has grim news—no new snow for two weeks; expect freezing rain and wind. Awesome. At the snowsports center, you slip on wet, cold boots, and shuffle over to the children’s center—for the 60th day in a row. The director greets you with a wicked smirk, gesturing toward a bedraggled mother with a screaming child in tow: “He’s your problem now.” After an hour of negotiation with the young terrorist, you form an agreement—one lap in exchange for a hot chocolate. You hoist him onto the chairlift and lower the bar, but before you can relish in this small victory, he kicks his feet together, sending both of his skis into the creek below. While carrying the child down the mountain, you hear him giggle and a warm trickle begins to drip down your side. Unbelievable, the little bastard just peed himself. At the end of the day, you debrief the now-relaxed mother on the situation, but your attempt to solicit a gratuity falls on deaf ears. In the après bar, you fork over your last $8 for a foamy draft, and sit alone thinking, without a doubt, becoming a ski instructor was the worst decision you ever made.