Em Blog Frozen

E com cada hora que passou ontem a probabilidade da recuperação evaporou. More than two thousand patrons pass through my multi-sheet skating rink on a winter weekend day, and while we’d like to think that 95 percent of them would, upon finding such a cherished emblem, rush it to management and eventually to its rightful owner, the sheer value of this particular ring suggested otherwise.

Ten or fifteen year ago, there may have been a minute chance at finding a Zam-gobbled-up valuable lodged in Zam snowbanks. But rink snowbanks are largely a thing of the past; the chemicals in modern ice require rinks to filter resurfacing dumpings, a system which ultimately delivers used rink surfaces to a country sewer system. When I first started working at an ice rink in high school my college-aged colleagues used to stash bottles of beer out back in the snowbanks, making the end of Fridays and Saturdays memorable for staff. With each tank of snow weighing in excess of 500 pounds, and Mother Nature’s melting working its own mischief, deep in spring the rink managers would often haul away a liquor store’s worth of bottled beer whose original placement had been obliterated. No such fun exists today.

That’s actually one of my favorite bits of ice rink reminiscience, but one difficult to indulge in this week because of the weekend’s misfortune.