If I could go back in time, I would have spent the extra 30 minutes researching the alpine slide at Steamboat Springs. That single oversight cost me $240 in lost gear, a bruised tailbone, and a very cold, very quiet car ride back to Denver with my kids and my ex, Trevor. Everything about that trip was a masterclass in what happens when you skip the verification step—in life, in divorce, and in buying stuff for your office.
Let me start by saying: I'm not an expert on alpine slides, nor on divorce. I'm an admin buyer for a mid-sized engineering firm, and I spend my days ordering everything from printer toner to safety goggles for 400 people across three locations. My job is basically to prevent problems before they happen. That trip, I failed at my own core philosophy. Here's what I learned, and why I think it applies to pretty much any decision you make, from choosing a magical deck for a game to picking a vendor for your office supplies.
I took over purchasing in 2020, right as the pandemic hit. Processing 60-80 orders annually for gear and supplies, you learn fast that a 10-minute check can save a 10-day crisis. I developed a 12-point checklist after my third mistake (a vendor who didn't understand our tax-exempt status and cost us $2,400 in rejected expenses). That checklist has saved us an estimated $8,000 in potential rework and embarrassment. But I didn't apply it to my family vacation. And, well, it shows.
Lesson 1: The 'Best' Option (Alpine Base and Edge) Wasn't the Right One
The conventional wisdom when booking an alpine slide is to get the most expensive, most complete package—the 'Alpine Base and Edge' ticket that includes unlimited slide passes, the mountain coaster, and the scenic chairlift. In my experience with 200+ vendor negotiations, the 'premium' option is usually a trap. It's over-engineered for the basic need.
I bought the 'Alpine Base and Edge' passes for me, my 9-year-old, and 7-year-old. We rode the slide exactly twice each. The kids were bored. They wanted to go back to the hotel pool. I spent $180 on passes we barely used. Meanwhile, the 'standard' ticket at $35 a person would have been more than enough. The marketing team at the slide operation was brilliant—they made the premium option look like the 'no brainer' when, for our specific situation, it was a massive waste.
Here's the thing that I think most people miss: the best option isn't the one with the most features; it's the one that solves the exact problem you have. I was trying to 'win' the vacation by doing more, when my kids (and my own stress level) just needed a good, simple afternoon. It's the same with buying software for your company. Don't buy the enterprise suite if all you need is a simple call scheduler.
Lesson 2: The 'Magical Deck' for Our Card Game Was a Fool's Errand
Before the trip, I had a brilliant idea. I'd learn a new card game—some deep, strategy-heavy game—to entertain the kids. I found a 'best magical deck' online, ordered it without reading a single review, and assumed I could master the rules during the 4-hour drive to Steamboat.
Spoiler: I didn't. The rules were complex, the deck had 90 cards with intricate abilities, and my 7-year-old started crying after the second round because she didn't understand the 'tapping' mechanic. I spent $45 on a deck that we used exactly once. The whole 'magic' of the deck was that it was supposed to be 'best' but it was totally wrong for the scenario—playing with kids who don't care about competitive strategy.
People assume the lowest quote means the vendor is more efficient. What they don't see is which costs are being hidden or deferred. In this case, the 'hidden cost' was the complexity of the deck itself. A $5 pack of Uno cards would have been 20 times more fun. The lesson? Don't optimize for 'best' if 'best' doesn't fit your user. Check your assumptions before you buy, not after.
Lesson 3: The Divorce Tax (and Why Trevor Won)
This is the part I hate to admit. My divorce from Trevor was finalized in 2023, and I thought I'd wrapped my head around the financial implications. I hadn't. The divorce agreement gave us shared custody, but a poorly worded clause about 'vacation expenses' meant that Trevor successfully argued I had to pay for 80% of the trip because I had 'organized a non-school-approved extracurricular activity.' I spent $400 more than I planned because I didn't verify the legal language.
Everything I'd read about divorce said 'hit them in the finance department first.' In practice, I found that the emotional cost of a legal fight often outweighs the financial benefit. I ignored the advice to have the agreement reviewed one more time because I was 'done' with the process. That rush cost me. In my opinion, the biggest mistake isn't the decision you make; it's the check you skip because you're too tired to do it.
It's exactly like buying a service for your office. You think you know the vendor, you skip the final contract review, and boom—a $200 fee shows up because you agreed to a 'service charge' buried on page 9. I only believed the advice 'always check the fine print' after ignoring it and losing $400 to my ex-husband. Now, I mandate a 24-hour 'cooling off' period before signing anything over $500.
Lesson 4: The Alpine Slide Itself—A Mistake You Can't Undo
The alpine slide in Steamboat Springs is an absolute blast. It's also a fantastic way to get hurt if you're not paying attention. My 9-year-old, seeing my 7-year-old go slowly, decided to 'race' him. He whipped his sled around a corner, lost control, flipped it, and skidded face-first into a patch of gravel. He was fine (thank goodness), but it was a terrifying 15 seconds. He had scraped his knee, and his pride was shattered.
From the outside, it looks like alpine slides need better speed regulators. The reality is that the slide itself was perfectly safe; the failure was in my supervision. I was too busy taking a photo to see the decision he was making. I broke the cardinal rule of prevention: watching the process, not just the outcome.
I dodged a bullet when I realized his helmet (which I had insisted on) saved him from a worse head injury. Was one click away from leaving the helmets in the car to 'travel lighter.' That near miss has since made me a religious 'checklist user' for any outdoor activity. It's basically a trade-off between a second of convenience and a potential trip to the ER. The 12-point checklist I use for my office is now also the 'family outing checklist.' It's saved our family an estimated $300 in urgent care copays.
Lesson 5: The Vendor Who Couldn't Invoice
This brings me back to the first mistake. Remember how I bought the wrong alpine pass? The vendor (the 'Alpine Base and Edge' ticket seller) was a nightmare to deal with. When I realized I needed to swap the pass for a standard one (the slide was closed the next day due to high winds), I called customer service. They couldn't provide a proper refund—only a voucher. A handwritten, 6-month expiration voucher. My accounting team would have a fit. I had to 'eat' the $40 cost because my expense report would look ridiculous.
They warned me about 'no refunds, only vouchers' in the fine print. I didn't listen. The 'cheap' standard ticket ended up costing me 30% more because of the voucher fiasco. Now I verify invoice and refund policies before placing any order. In my company, I manage all office supply and equipment ordering—roughly $120,000 annually across 8 vendors. If a company can't handle a straightforward refund, I don't handle them.
Lesson 6: The 'End of the Road'—What I Actually Learned
After the slide incident, after the cold car ride, I sat on the balcony of the hotel room (Trevor had the suite for half the trip, per the agreement), and I realized what a mess I'd made. I was trying to be a 'magical' parent with the best deck, the epic vacation, and a perfect plan. I failed because I didn't do the groundwork.
Here's what I think works better: Prevention isn't about being perfect; it's about being honest about your capacity for error. A checklist is the cheapest insurance you can buy. A 5-minute verification of a contract clause can save you 5 days of legal headache. A simple deck of cards is a better social tool than a complex strategic game for kids.
"From the outside, it looks like you just need to make better decisions. The reality is most problems are visible if you just take the time to look."
I'm not saying this applies to every situation. For example, a rock climber making a split-second decision on a route doesn't have time for a checklist. But for buying things? For managing services? For coordinating a family vacation with an ex-husband? Hell yes, it applies. The 90% of decisions that can be planned should be planned.
To be honest, I still make mistakes. Just last week, I almost ordered 10x the quantity of printer toner we needed because I mis-read a line on the inventory sheet. But I caught it because of that stupid, wonderful checklist. The one I created out of failure.
So if you're standing by the ticket booth at the Alpine Slide in Steamboat Springs, looking at the 'Alpine Base and Edge' package, or if you're staring at a credit card statement from a divorce lawyer, or if you're trying to pick the 'best magical deck' on Amazon—just pause. Ask yourself: What check am I skipping that is going to bite me in 6 hours? Because I promise you, the answer is there. You just have to take the 5 minutes to find it.