When they’re not rolling around naked in a pile of crisp Ben Franklins, they’re spraying each other with Cristal till the Burberry carpet of the Bentley is, like, totally saturated. (Where do you think your $72 lift ticket goes?) Of course, resort workers deny this. They lie through their diamond-studded gold teeth, and insist that their work ethic never diminishes in summer-that the trail crew is clearing brush, that engineers are maintaining lifts, that marketing types are escorting big-city newspaper reporters to various outdoor operas. As for the lifties and other seasonal employees, they’re leading lives of quiet desperation. Or landscaping.