Roger Marolt: Playing to get paid in 100 easy days
A scheme to sell a coveted pin could cover a season’s skiing and then some
I got my first 100-day ski pin. I didn’t earn it. I found it on the turf football field. How it got there, I have no idea. Was it pinned on the hem of somebody’s soccer shorts? It was presumably lost by a student and, if so, how they squeezed in a hundred days of skiing without cutting class is an equally perplexing question.
I honestly tried to find the owner of this pin. I know somebody was sad when they found out it was gone. I wrote a letter to the editor in The Aspen Times letting the community know that I had it and wanted to find its owner. I went so far as to describe where I found it and swore I would return it with no questions asked. I thought so many people would claim it that I might have to perform cross-examinations to suss out the true diehard. Alas, not a single claimant came forward.
Enough time has passed from the finding that I now consider the pin mine. The oddest thing about this is that I somehow feel weirdly proud of having it. I didn’t earn it, but it’s probably harder to find one than it is to actually go skiing five days a week all winter long.
I still wouldn’t feel right about wearing it in public. I doubt if anyone would question it, but I only have so many ski stories to tell and I’d rather burn them up earning free beer than defending the possession of a ski pin. By the way, this is not admitting wearing one you did not earn is a crime.
Even still, a junk drawer in the kitchen is not an appropriate grave for one of these things, either. So I let the thoughts of the pin bounce around unstrapped in the cargo bay of my mind while I did things like ride my mountain bike and mow grass over the weekend hoping that would produce some productive thought.
BAM! It came to me just as I was priming the fuel pump on the weed whacker — I should try to monetize the 100-day pin! It’s actually a brilliant idea, if I do say so myself. People covet these pins. They waste entire winters and layers of knee cartilage getting one. Once they have them, they won’t let go. I offered Lo Semple two NASTAR platinum medals for a single 100-day pin for the year of his choosing. He said no deal. I reminded him that the platinum medal was way harder to earn than a 100-day pin. Even reason couldn’t change his mind.
This convinced me that the 100-day pin had value, and this led me to believe it could be sold. I began a grand experiment that I hope will prove fruitful for local ski bums and ski bum wannabes. Step one: list my 100-day pin on eBay. Step two: Wait and see. The hypothesis: If I can sell one, anyone can sell one. Result: instant cash for ski bums. CHA-CHING!
By now you must be absolutely dying to ask me what the asking price is. Well, I’m glad I assumed you asked. It’s $2,750. I’m just going to go ahead and tell you how I arrived at this price. I figured this would cover the cost of a season pass (with a chamber discount, early bird price applied, of course) and have enough left over to cover most expenses necessary for relaxing through the spring offseason (mostly beer). Basically, $2,750 is the amount that lets you ski a whole season for free and then recover the rest of the spring without having to search for the odd jobs that are offered when the sun starts thawing old dog poo from shrinking snowbanks and the mud is ankle-deep. No good comes out of that!
I know this sounds like a get-rich-quick scheme with me as the primary beneficiary. I can only say it is not.
For starters, if the pin sells, I plan to donate the money to a trustworthy member of the Aspen Mountain 1A Liftie Association, if one can be found, to host a big cookout down there next spring. Almost all the beer you can drink is on me!
Secondly, I am so damn dumb about technology that I can’t even find my own listing on eBay. I’ll probably never know if the thing sells. All is lost if they try to Venmo me.
Roger Marolt wants to make the ultimate local dream come true: getting paid to ski. Email him at email@example.com.