This Week on the Course

Most of you know I'm driving the beer cart at the local golf course for my summer job. This weekend was pretty fun. I only worked Friday and Sunday because Saturday was the high school regionals track meet and since my son was running, I wanted to be there to watch him (he qualified for state in the 4x800 relay).

First, I've got to say, there's a surreal feeling to doing this job. How many of you have ever played Sims Golf? I have, and driving the golf cart around the course is eerily like playing that game. The same sounds of geese honking, balls being whacked, etc. And I'm Sally the refreshment cart girl (or whatever her name is, I forget at the moment). Frequently as I make my rounds I'm put in mind of Sims Golf and it makes me giggle.

So anyway, this Sunday was a dud. The weather was nice, but nobody was on the course. I spent six hours driving around in circles and only sold about $150 worth of stuff. The highlight of the day was catching the same guy peeing on two different trees.

Friday, however, was a hoot. In North Dakota, Canadian geese are "protected" and they're freakin' everywhere on the course. You literally end up chasing them out of your way. Golfers have to golf around the geese, you're serenaded by their endless honking, and since it's spring it's baby Canada goose season, so there are dozens of little puffy yellow geese everywhere. At one point, as I sat patiently waiting for a herd of them to cross the path, I counted 23 babies being urged along by two grownups. Holy moly, that's a lot of kids.

While we're talking about animals, there are tons of ground squirrels on the course too. I nearly ran one over Friday. Well...technically he ran under the cart as I was driving. I squealed and waited for the bloody crunching sound, but he was lucky - he timed it perfectly to get under the cart between the wheels without being squished.

The Canadians were out golfing in droves Friday. Nice afternoon, eh?

It was a beautiful day, but super windy. This, of course, prompted multiple ball jokes.

- All the guys on the course or golfing balls to the wind.
- I've never seen so many guys wandering aimlessly in search of their balls.

You get the picture. I amused myself no end all day long - until I was actually hit by a flying ball. That had me on guard the rest of the day. It's no fun to be whacked by balls falling from nowhere out of the sky.

Because of the weather, I couldn't keep enough beer stocked on the cart. Of course there are always a few wise guys who think they're funny when you ask what you can get for them and they answer, "well, I'll take a cold beer unless you've got some warm liquor." Haha. So clever. Those guys are usually halfway hammered already and think they're seriously amusing when they're just idiots. I did sell a record 18 beers at once to one group of four guys, though. And they were also already well on their way to drunk. I was hoping I left the course and was safely home before they hit the road. Yikes.

At one point, as I was parked between holes 4, 6 and 7 waiting for customers to show up, there were three older guys finishing up hole 4. It turns out one wasn't wearing a shirt but I hadn't actually seen him yet. Some older lady finished hole 6 and saw me sitting there. She came up to chat and confided to me:

"Have you seen the guy golfing without a shirt?"

I said no.

"Well, I'm 63 and nobody would want to see me out here golfing without a shirt."

That goes without saying. She was a heavy 63, too. Yucky mental image.

"He must think he's some kind of Adonis. Nobody wants to see that. Especially with man boobs."

I laughed, not knowing the guy's like almost right behind her, putting on the 4th green.

"Well, you have a nice day sweetheart."

Okie doke. When she left I focused on the guys behind her, one of whom was Adonis of the man boobs. Ewwww is all I've got left to say on the subject except that just because you can legally go shirtless doesn't mean you should.

Finally, I'm starting to learn the names of some of the regulars on the course. It helps to ingratiate myself with the good tippers, and when you're making a living mostly off of tips, ingratiation is an important part of the job. I've learned Tim, who drinks Coors and spends a lot of money on the course, and is a super good tipper; there's Auggie (which I think is short for August, but I never asked), who doesn't always buy beer but he's nice enough anyway; and then there's Chuck who I met a couple weeks ago. He told me his name was Chuck and asked me what my name was. Margaret, I say. That triggered a discussion among him and his group about nicknames for Margaret.

"Do you go by Maggie?"

No.

"Don't insult her. How about Marge?" another guy in the group asks.

No. And how Maggie is an insult I'm still trying to figure out. If I had to choose between the two it would be Maggie. Marge? Really? Blech.

By this time they'd all teed off and started the trek to the next hole.

"See ya later Maggie," says Chuck.

Okay, next time around Charles, I say. This elicits a hoot of laughter from him. So this weekend I see him again. He doesn't buy anything, but hollers across at least one hole:

"Hey! It's Mags!"

Indeed. He thought that was pretty funny. I had no answer for him. Just waved and kept on driving.

Wonder what next weekend's gonna bring?