My Keystone Resorts name tag. This one actually has my name on it. Usually at the start of a shift we’d just grab a tag, pin it on, and then inwardly mock the guests who called us by name as if they knew us. I went to Keystone during my wandering years. I had a friend who had a cushy office job out there and I figured I get one of those.
I ended up on the mountain house washing dishes. After a day of this I told my supervisor I needed a position that better matched my skill set. So I ended up at the soup and pasta bar, serving overprice light lunches to the tourists. I lived in employee housing right on the mountain. It was just a little down hill run to the chair lift. And even at 23 years old, I was one of the old men of the place. It was dorm life without the academic rigor. And while it was mostly filled with goofballs, I met some cool people. In particular a fiery little girl from New York City who would come to my dorm room and make me sing with her while she played guitar. That and making fun of the knot heads we lived with was as romantic as we got. Although we corresponded for a bit after I no longer worked there when I was at K.U. before finally losing touch.
I didn’t stay long at Keystone, a couple months I think. Long enough to realize that the dorm-living part of my life was probably behind me. Long enough to pay for my skis. Long enough to find a name tag with my actual name on it. Long enough.