Reporter learns he's only worth $95

JOHN DAVIDSON/Frontiersman reporter

Have you ever wondered how much you are worth? Strictly in monetary terms, just how much you're actually worth? Everyone must wonder this at some point, even if in passing.

I used to think I was worth $500 cash, straight up, money on the table, done deal. For years I just kind of assumed this was my net worth, I never questioned it.

Well, it turns out I'm not worth $500. Not even close.

This weekend at the 24th-annual Talkeetna Bachelor Society Ball and Auction, registered bachelors, myself included, were put up on the block in front of more than 100 screaming women. We were paraded around a stage, ordered to "take it off," identified by number, auctioned and sold off like cattle. It was for charity.

I have never before felt so objectified, so much as if it didn't matter who I was as a person, or what I had to say or how I felt; it didn't make any difference. I was just a piece of meat being sold off to the highest bidder. It was awesome.

And now I know exactly how much I'm worth. Apparently, I'm worth $95 cash.

I was hoping to break $100, but a lot of guys didn't. Some had to take off clothes and shake their rear ends just to get close to my $95 mark, so I thought I did pretty well. I didn't even have to shake my rear end.

But it can be surprising when you tally up the worth of a bachelor in Talkeetna. Suffice to say there were some auction-block surprises Saturday night. The third bachelor on the block was a bald, tattooed, mustached, leather-vested Harley-biker-type bachelor, who, although rough and rugged-looking, wasn't particularly remarkable. He sold for $995.

This was humbling for many of us. We knew we couldn't get that kind of money, no matter what we took off or how much we danced around.

But I just kept saying to myself, "This is for charity, it's for the kids, we're doing this for the kids." I didn't really believe myself, but I also didn't feel so bad about being worth $900 less than the bald biker guy.

And, of course, I was just doing my job. I was a reporter, on assignment, after all, just researching the Talkeetna singles subculture, which, I have to say, is kind of crazy.

Unfortunately, the night got a little too crazy and I was never able to find the woman who bought me, Dee Giguere of Edmonds, Wash. I saw her and spoke with her briefly at the auction, but she never showed up at the Bachelor's Ball; she really was doing it for charity.

(If you're reading this, Dee, get a hold of me. I owe you a drink and a dance. I looked for you and waited and waited, but you never came.)

Not every weekend in Talkeetna is like this one. I don't see how it could be. Throughout the day, I kept meeting women who had actually come out from Anchorage to meet and buy bachelors. They were pretty direct. They'd walk up to a guy and say, "What's your bachelor number, we're bidding on you." They didn't want chit-chat, either; they wanted to know what you would do for them if they bought you.

This is not a situation most bachelors are used to, certainly not most Talkeetna bachelors. But it wasn't awkward, for some reason; it was like the whole town was a singles club for the weekend, and everyone could be just as forward and crazy as they wanted to be. And, as a waitress reassured me Sunday morning, "What happens in Talkeetna, stays in Talkeetna."

This is fortunate, because I'm not the type who jumps at the chance to get auctioned off in front of more than 100 screaming women, nor am I used to it. But I have to say I kind of enjoyed it. I might even do it again next year. Sure, it reduces me to nothing more than a piece of meat, an object to be bought and sold for someone else's pleasure, but it was all in good fun; it was all for the sake of charity. That's actually the main reason I did it, to help others.

And I wanted to know how much I would go for, both for vanity's sake and out of sheer curiosity. My pride may have been checked by the bald biker but my curiosity was satiated. At least I know for sure now: I'm worth $95.