Some days we wake up wondering if we are going to make it, and on others, we know that heaven or hell can’t hold us back. It was Ladies’ Day at Maplewood Golf Course and my job was to stage carts. I entered the Pro Shop to retrieve my key and Kirk greeted me with his usual, “Andrew.” I found out I was working with Jerry. He was tanned, 55 years old, and wore a gold chain around his neck. I’ve never met anyone more high-strung. Jerry liked his job because he could cruise around and flirt with the women. He needed constant redirection and if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, he would start talking faster. Without an intervention he would work himself into a panic and start screaming over the radio. Usually, this was when the head pro would speak to him in his slow casual drone. “Jerry, calm down.” But Jerry wouldn’t calm down. “We have too many golf carts on number 7 and we’re missing a sign on number 6!” And the head pro would repeat what he said in the same slow casual drone. “Jerry, calm down!”
The ladies were arriving. Most of them wore checkered pants and silk polo shirts. I was looking for younger ones, but they were all over the age of 40. They looked like they worked corporate jobs and told people what to do all day.
I got a call over the radio. “Pro Shop to Andy, Pro Shop to Andy. Our first group is about to tee off and we need a Yamaha on number 1.” I walked into the cart barn and there was Jenny. She was dressed in a pink polo top and a short mini skirt. She lit a cigarette between her pink painted lips and smiled at me. I got into the nearest golf cart, thinking about our age difference. She was 28 and I was 16; it could work. I gunned the golf cart extra fast and hit the curb on the way out. She made most men act the same way. It was a combination of pheromones, cigarette smoke, and her voice suggesting things that weren’t said. She sold a lot of chips and beer.
I parked the golf cart near the championship tees and jumped out. But then I noticed the ladies were milling about on the putting green near the white tees. Maybe I should move the golf cart forward. And I did. Then I noticed a registration tent near the red tees and it dawned on me, obviously the ladies will be teeing off from their own tees. And I moved the cart up again.
Two ladies glared at me as I walked back to the Pro Shop. I didn’t pay them any attention because I was on my lunch break. I entered the club house to raucous pandemonium.
“Andy, that was pure genius,” Kirk said. He slapped me on the back.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Oh, this just keeps getting better. You mean, you don’t know?” Kirk was laughing so hard he could barely talk and the head pro smiled.
“Should we tell him?” Jerry asked.
“Okay, tell ‘im,” the head pro said.
“When you parked near the championship tees, the ladies tried to load their golf clubs onto the back of your cart. They lifted them high and you drove away. They caught up with you again and you did the same thing. Margret is a lawyer. I bet she wants to sue your ass.”
“But I didn’t mean to,” I said. Everybody laughed. It was uncontrollable. I didn’t realize how funny it was until I was eating my Bogey Burger and fries five minutes later.