If you follow me on Twitter (which you probably do and that’s how you got to this blog post–SOCIAL MEDIA!), you know that last week I was at a “Golf Charity Event” for work. In short, I was sent to “man a hole” (insert any “that’s what he/she said” joke). In case some lucky bastard got a hole in one that won him a brand new car, I was there to witness that he didn’t cheat.
It should have been a cake walk day to enjoy the surroundings and relax in the sun. Except, it was hot outside and I’m not sure if you know this, but golf? It’s as boring as popsicles melting.
Not to be confused with "Pericles melting" which is what the spell checker wanted me to write.
I WANTED to give away the car so I could go back to an air conditioned office and stare out my window pretending it was thunderstoming outside. Or at least drive my golf cart around like a 4-wheeler (which I did eventually try, but golf carts don’t have great AWD). Don’t get me wrong, I like the outdoors, but I was in the middle of a golf course–a million miles away from civilization–and my phone only had 40% battery left a quarter of the way through the damn tournament. I left my book in the car like an idiot. I didn’t even have pen and paper! I was cut off from humanity and I was desperate for SOMETHING to do.
And in case you’re curious: golfers HATE when you talk to them. (They especially hate when you scream “BRICK!” as they line up to shoot. Or tee. Or whatever it’s called.)
I tried to bribe them. “Look, if you bring me a sandwich and a new phone battery, I’ll let you kick the damn ball into the hole and the car’s yours.”
I will also accept a frozen Bluth banana and a magic trick.
NO TAKERS.
It wasn’t even because they were afraid of getting caught cheating or they couldn’t get close enough to the hole to make it look reasonable (though for being “avid” golfers, they weren’t very good). Every time I told someone to kick in the ball, they’d respond, “Nah. I don’t really need a new car. I just bought a new Audi. Or BMW. Or something else to make you feel even shittier about your life. That’s why I play golf and own plaid khaki pants, to rub in the fact that I’m awesome.”
"It just doesn't *shine* like it should."
Without anyone interested in owning a new car (or anyone willing to win it for me since according to Bossman I’m “ineligible”), I decided to play a game I was fond of playing in my years of working at a theme park food booth. It’s called, “Damn, this sucks.” What you do is find a few rocks (or woodland creatures, small children, whatever you fancy) and throw them at a nearby tree to see how many leaves you can knock off the branches. I expect it will be the “next big thing” at all the Frat parties.
You’re welcome.
