I just got off the Bridger Gondola. I need a shower and an exorcism. I loaded up solo. The liftie packs me into a cabin with seven strangers. It’s intimate. Too intimate. To my left: A family of five from Florida. Dad is wearing jeans. Mom is wearing a fur coat that costs more than my truck. The three kids are screaming and hitting each other with poles. To my right: A guy who looks like he’s been living in a snow cave since 1998. Duct tape on his jacket, beard full of ice, smells like a wet dog. We get about halfway up, hanging over the steeps. Suddenly, the gondola stops. Wind hold. We are swinging back and forth like a pendulum in a hurricane. The Florida Mom starts hyperventilating. "We're going to die! Robert, do something!" Robert, the dad, stands up, which rocks the cabin even more and starts banging on the glass. "I am a Platinum Pass holder! Get this thing moving!" Then, the caveman to my right decides this is the perfect time for lunch. He unzips his jacket. He pulls out a Tupperware container. It is Tuna Salad. Warm, backpack-temperature Tuna Salad. And hard-boiled eggs. He cracks the lid. The smell is rancid. In a sealed 6x6 glass box. While we are swinging. One of the Florida kids immediately throws up on his brother’s boots. The Mom starts screaming. The Dad is trying to call 911 but has no service. The Caveman is just happily shoveling tuna into his mouth with a plastic spoon, offering me a bite. "Protein, bro," he says. We were stuck there for 20 minutes. I didn't even take my skis out when we got to the top. I just ran to the lodge to breathe filtered air. I’m currently hiding in the bathroom. I can still smell the eggs.