Lo-Fidelity: Labor Day in Aspen

Work is the one thing there’s no shortage of in Aspen. Technically, every day here is Labor Day; we only celebrate the never-ending drudgery once a year. And when I say “labor,” I mean actual, concrete, physical work — as in manual labor.

If you look around today’s Aspen, we’re surrounded by construction. Not just run-of-the-mill construction projects; rather, we’ve entered into an era of enormous, super-industrial, legacy ventures on nearly every downtown corner, corridor and quadrant of town. But the construction doesn’t end there. Each of our four ski areas has an ongoing project of some sort. From 9 to 5, six days a week, Aspen groans with the remorseless din of wealth, reproduction and progress. If you own a dump truck or a construction crane, you have copious amounts of job security.

I’d put Aspen’s modern day building boom right up there with our town’s growth and population peak of the late 1800’s silver rush. It’s a different iteration of the exact same thing. If you use that as a yardstick, we still have room to grow.

I’ve happily given the best years of my life to Aspen’s workforce, amply applying my limited skillset and trusty Aspen High School degree. They say, to make a living, a man can use his back or his brain. I’d like to think I’ve done a little of both. Just the other day, I tried to formulate a list in my head of all the jobs I’ve ever had in Aspen. I lost track at around 15 — and that’s only the jobs I’ve had locally. My unsolicited advice to local kids looking to stay in town and get rich? There’s no easy way. Grunt work is highly underrated. Learn a trade, and start your own business. 

The first “job” I ever had was more of an entrepreneurial schoolboy side-hustle: selling The Aspen Times out of a backpack on Thursdays after school. In retrospect, hawking papers was perhaps my most enduring business lesson — buy dealer direct at wholesale (10 cents), sell at 100% markup and schmooze for a big tip. Interestingly, that’s basically the same business model I still religiously adhere to. 

My first paid “job” was mowing my neighbor’s lawn in the west end. It was the summer of sixth grade at the Aspen Country Day School. I made $15 and spent it all at R’Peas Pizza and the Pinball Palace soon afterwards. Funny enough, just yesterday, I mowed lawns all day, then spent most of my keep at Clark’s Oyster Bar and the ISIS. The more things change in Aspen, the more they stay the same … for me, anyways. 

The first proper paycheck I ever received was at 15 years old from the Aspen Institute for Humanistic Studies. I was on the “conference crew” and worked under the watchful eye of the mighty, beloved King Woodward, aka “Woody.” There, I learned the importance of tangible work, a finished product, punctuality, presentation and posture. 

From there, I had a series of independent start-up summer jobs — painting, mowing, detailing cars and the like — but nothing ever made it out of the “friend zone.” It wasn’t until I started working in the kitchen at Takah Sushi that I was able to open my own bank account and start making, saving and spending what I felt was “real” money. The next summer, I worked the deep fryer in the kitchen at Gordon’s next to a newly-arrived, fresh-off-the-turnip-truck Tony DiLucia and my hoodlum buddy Tai Vare. 

Even though I ended up spending most of that money on drugs, I like to think I still learned a valuable work ethic: show up early, ready to learn and, remember, you are expendable. My dad told me one time the reason your boss is your boss is because they can do your job better and faster than you can. My real boss these days seems to be the credit card company. That’s where I send all my money to at the end of every month. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the monkey on my back that is retirement lately. I have nine more years to go. This shouldn’t take long. I’ve never bought into the fallacy that you should “love” your job. My mind, body and spirit is beat-up from the street-up from a lifetime of schlepping, bending-over and doing manual labor. That’s not love. 

I got a funny feeling all those years I might’ve been using my back more than my brain. The mantra “work smart, not hard” has been ringing in my ears like hell’s bells lately. If my grand scheme goes as planned, my first job selling Aspen Times will also be my last  — writing columns: hard on the brain but easier on the back. 

It’s been a long, hot summer. Hopefully, you’ll get to blow some steam off this Labor Day weekend up at the JAS concerts. I know I will. Until Tuesday morning comes around, you can take that job and shove it. Happy Labor Day to all of Aspen’s tireless workers. This Bud’s for you.

Contact Lorenzo via suityourself@sopris.net.