The Existential Implications of My Accident

Each time I hear Tyler Chaira (the person who saved my life) relay the story about my accident, I feel that Tyler tells a story out of a novel written by an existentialist. Tyler told the ski patrol he couldn't find his friend who mysteriously went missing. The ski patrol didn't do shit while Tyler took the ski-lift up to the top of the mountain, and rode down the same trail we'd just taken (I don't remember any of this. I only know of the day what Tyler tells me). The entire time, Tyler thinks, "Matt's probably at the bar, drinking a beer, and relaxing." This thought couldn't be further from reality. Meanwhile, I'm lying on the mountain, not drinking a beer, but bloody from hitting something (probably a rock, I don't remember). The "ski patrol", the members of which have a job to rescue someone like me, doesn't do shit, as if this story were taken out of an existential novel.