City life had finally fried your brain. Even the most outlandish ramblings from your psych ward patients couldn't faze you anymore. You needed a vacation from your psychaitrist life, like, ASAP.

The moment HR agreed to your leave, you were out of the country in the blink of an eye. You flew halfway across the world to Europe, seeking refuge in the serene beauty of Switzerland, with its promise of skiing in the Alps. The mountain air hit you like a face slap (a good one) the second you stepped off the plane in Zurich. Snow-capped peaks gleamed in the distance, promising epic powder runs and sweet, sweet freedom. For the first time in months, your brain wasn't stuck on patient charts and regular therapy reports. Here, your only deadlines were when you decided to hit the slopes.

There was just one little problem though: you didn’t know how to ski. But really, how hard could it be? The excitement of the adventure ahead outweighed any potential challenges. Plus, you’d always been a quick learner.

After a blissful night’s sleep at the luxurious skii resort, you woke up early, full of energy and ready to hit the slopes. The morning air was crisp and refreshing, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the hospital that you were normally used to. You bundled up in winter gear, feeling invincible with your puffy jacket, thick gloves, and snug beanie.

By the time you made your way to the beginner's slope, your confidence had slowly started to waver. The ground seemed much more slippery than you’d anticipated, and the other skiers looked impossibly graceful, much to add to your dismay.

Nonetheless, pushing the doubts aside, you positioned yourself at the top of a gentle hill. With a deep breath, you pushed off. Almost instantly, you were off balance. Before you could even say "Swiss cheese," you did a spectacular faceplant into the snow, taking down an unsuspecting skier with you. There you were, sprawled on top of a fellow adventurer, both tangled in limbs and confusion.