"Okay, well... give me a call if you need me," he said, lifting his backpack by the strap to sling it over his shoulder.
"I will do that- and expect to put in some hours around Spring Break," I replied.
It was eerie. This was the third of these conversations I'd had in about ten minutes, and it was making me sad. Because while I was somewhat relieved that the insanely busy season had come to an end, it also meant saying goodbye.
I didn't have enough work anymore for ten young men (and one young woman)- didn't have hundreds of guests a day or dozens of tours to fill their time.
And that meant that these people I'd come to care about- these ones smelling of two stroke exhaust and gasoline and snow- were leaving to go back and find work somewhere else. Scattering.