Seriously?

Apparently, "gift shop" also really means "gas station." You have got to be shitting me.

Heartache

So...to get the red tape out of the way...

1. We arrived in Fairbanks last night. Stayed at a Hostel called Billie's Backpackers...it was top drawer. Met a guy and a Swedish girl.

2. Jim fell in love with the Swede within the first 30 seconds. He's such a romantic. They shared a bed...and by shared I mean they slept in separate beds.

3. Got to Denali today by way of an overpriced shuttle. Jim forgot his required documentation to work...so he's got to ship back to Fairbanks tomorrow. Strike one.

4. So far, Alaska looks awesome. And it smells suspiciously like coffee...

Now, for the real meaning of this post. Can you guess what Jim was thinking in this picture? I know what you're thinking; he looks happy, doesn't he? Wrong.

This picture was taken right after Jim found out where he'd be working this summer. You see, on his job description, it says "camp store." So, like a fool, Jim assumed he'd be working at a camp store. Not the case. 

We decided to go across the road today to buy a 12-pack...standard procedure. We go in to a gas station with a small selection of snacks and a small liquor store. Jim mumbles about what a dump the place was...then realizes that the employees are wearing the same clothes he was told to bring. This raised a bit of a red flag, but he brushed it aside. I mean, there's no way that this was the camp store, right?

Wrong. The man who checked Jim out was named Eric Van den Hoogen. Jim's supervisor is also named Eric Van den Hoogen. Could've been a different Eric Van den Hoogen. But probably not. 

Nope, Jim will be spending the next 3 months working at a gas station. He drowned his sorrows by downing ice cream and yams and mumbling about hitting his head with a ballpeen hammer. He's getting over it.

What does the future hold? Does Sam really work at a "gift shop?" Only time will tell. For now, we've got to get back to that 12-pack.

The Calm Before The Storm

It's happening.

Just over a week from when we leave for the great up north, and it is finally setting in that yes, we actually are going to be spending the entire summer in the great state of Alaska. Well...it's probably great. I mean, neither of us have ever been there...but it has to at least be in the top 50% of states, right? Way better than Idaho and the Dakotas, no doubt. Please refrain from making any Iowa jokes.
Anyway, we're joining many other lost souls like ourselves in an attempt to find life's true meaning in the deliciousness of the Alaskan wilderness. We will become one with nature (not to mention the fact that we're working/living in a large, energy-consuming resort that probably harms the environment in enough ways to make Hillary Clinton tear out of one of her pants-suits in anger. Oh well, get over it. Nature will survive.).
Regardless, we're both getting excited. Jim is excited to meet some hippie-girls. Sam is excited to make fun of those hippie-girls. It's going to be a good summer.

Which gets us to the reason for this post: what are the odds that one or both of us gets eaten by a grizzly bear this summer? It's a real possibility. We're setting them at 50-1. If we were you, we'd put $1,000 down on us getting eaten. Why?
A. It would make the summer more interesting...like an episode of man vs. wild, aside from the fact that there would be no cameras and there would be an actual chance of us dying.
B. Think about it; if we do get eaten, while everyone else is mourning our deaths, you'll have a nice little payday to keep you happy. Really, you can't lose with this bet. Call it in to Vegas.