The Little Bitch That Couldn't

The title of this post says it all. Today I carried two bags, and one of the player's I caddied for had a Napoleon complex. He was a little bitch. And although he THOUGHT he could play, he really couldn't. He also made me his honorary wench today. I don't think I've done this much for one player since I started. I suppose that's part of the job description, but it was pretty insane.

But we'll get to that. As for yesterday, I was going to post something last night but I figured what happened would be better suited as an add-on to today's post. So here goes: The guy I caddied for yesterday was that guy with the really weird, slow, deep voice. And after a cakewalk of a loop, he "recruited" me to caddie for him in his foursome during the member guest which takes place a week from this Monday. Bitchin'. That's really all there is to say about yesterday's round. It was quick and painless. I was done with work by noon. So that's pretty sweet: More willing repeat-customers. Keep 'em coming.

So back to my tale of the little bitch who couldn't. He started out his round with two bloody mary's. He was double fisting on the first freakin' hole. And by "he" I mean "me," because he immediately handed off the cups to me to hold onto for him. I mean, it's really no problem man. I'm only carrying two bags and have to keep track of two balls. And don't worry about yardage. I'm getting pretty good at GUESSING.

But that wasn't the best part. You see, when I first picked up his bag he said, "You may want to switch that out. It's a little heavy." It wasn't too bad, but it didn't have a stand on it so I decided to take his advice. Having been through this before, I brought both bags out: his original bag and the new bag. I am forbidden to go into the pockets on anyone's golf bag, so while I switch out the clubs on the first tee into the new bag, he's supposed to switch out what's in the pockets of his original bag. Simple, right?

Wrong. I'm thinking everything is starting off pretty well, and halfway down the first fairway he turns to me and starts going through the bag.

"You got my dip in here?"

"Well, if you didn't put it in there, then no."

"Man, I really need that dip. I won't be able to get through the 18 without it."

Son-of-a-bitch-bastard-slut-bag. Wow. So I had to run back 400 yards to his original bag and fish out the dip. By the time I get back to the bags, I'm already feeling a little sore. Guess I should've stretched a little more or something before I started today.

Before we reached the green, he had finished off one of his bloody mary's. So of course I'm now a cupholder, bag carrier, and GARBAGE RECEPTACLE. With one bag, this isn't a big deal, because I can easily hold the cup in my bib without it falling out. But carrying two bags, now I can't really steady the cup or get to a garbage can as quickly. So of course I was the last one up the next fairway because I had to hunt down that stupid garbage can.

But you know what? At this point, I calmed myself down. I was like, "Hey, this is my job. I cater to members and guests alike. Besides, he's done with one of the drinks. He'll be finishing this other one soon enough."

So his second tee shot went right. I mean it didn't end up that bad and he had a shot to the green, but it was in the rough, which at this point is longer and thicker than it was a week ago.

Not surprisingly, he hit a bad shot. The ball went left of the green, and he started getting mad. He snarled: "Is that okay?"

"Should be. Didn't look like it took a bad kick."

"Fine. Let's go."

Whoa. Okay there little gipper. Let's just calm down. I need to work with you for 16 more holes.

So he was left of the green on a crappy lie with some over-hanging branches impeding his ball flight. But after a decent swing, he put it on the green. He then took off his windbreaker (the sun was coming out) and tossed it to me, and looked annoyed as he had to wait two seconds as I fumbled to put down his bloody mary, take his 8-iron and hand him his putter. After folding his windbreaker (and now that I think about it, I hope that was taken out of the bag after the round), grabbing the bloody drink, and running with the other bag over to the green to hand my other man his putter, I thought I was finally comfortable. But oh the round had so much more to offer.

After the 7th hole there's a "halfway house" where members and guests can stop and get a sandwich, hotdog, beer, chips, cookies, or even a cigar. Lots of stuff to choose from. Unbeknownst to me but knownst to Mr. Napoleon, he had purchased a beer and set it "somewhere." Obviously, I should have seen the beer, immediately assumed it was his, and put it in his bag. I mean, this is "Caddying 101" people.

So we're almost 500 yards away working our way up the 8th hole when he turns to me and starts fumbling around in his bag again. Okay, so what is it now?

"Where did you put my beer?"

"Beer?"

"I really needed that beer."

"Um...sorry?"

"God. Fine. Come on, let's go."

Sir, I am so sorry. I am a terrible caddie. Or maybe you're a little bastard. I can't tell which one it is yet.

I forgot to mention, at some point early in the round, he put that dip in my bib. I suppose that meant easy access. But now I had to take care of anyone who wanted that sweet sweet tobacco because now I was a dip-dispenser. So now other players would follow me around because I had this stuff on me. Keep it comin' boys. Keep it comin'.

On the 9th hole Napoleon knocked it to 3 feet, and then three-jacked it. But I also noticed as he went up to putt that he had a beer in his hand. Apparently another one of his playing partners had a beer to spare. You see Napoleon? Life does go on. You survived.

That last thought must've unleashed some bad karma on me though. Because on the 12th, after the second shots were hit to this long, uphill par-5, Mr. Napoleon comes over to me again.

WHAT THE FUCK IS IT NOW LITTLE MAN???

"Hey, we'd like to get 4 light beers. Do you think you could run back and get us some? We'll carry the bags up to the green."

Alright, alright. Fine. So I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran like Forrest Gump. After about 600 yards, I reached the halfway house again, got the brewski's, and ran back with them in a bag full of ICE. Who's the man? Who's your daddy?

But MAN that was a long run back. As I approached the green, they were walking off, so I handed off the bag to Napoleon and ran over to the bags, which were littered with clubs. They didn't put anything away. AWESOME. Fortunately I'm starting to get a little faster with my ability to "glow" (clean the clubs), and I was finally able to catch back up as the foursome approached the next tee.

On the 14th Napoleon skanked another wedge and it ended up in the water.

"You said that was 96?"

"Yeah."

"You sure about that?"

Sir, it's okay to skank a ball from time to time. Especially when you're a little bitch.

"Give me another ball."

I really can't express in those last four words how condescending he made that sound. He said it like I was an idiot and it was MY fault that he picked the wrong club and hit it fat. Ahh well. The job of a caddie is never done I suppose.

By the 16th he had started a small collection of plastic cups in the bag. He'd use two cups stuck together for water rather than one. I suppose he did that in case one of the cups broke down.

And on the 18th, he hooked his second shot in the water and stopped talking to me altogether. The other guy I was caddying for, who was actually really cool, had been relatively quiet all day until 18. So he broke that silence with an 11 on the last hole. I think it was because I was tired, but I couldn't stop laughing.

His drive ended up in the woods. His second shot almost made the beginning of the fairway. His third went dead right, kicked off a tree and almost made it back in the fairway. He skulled his fourth into the right greenside bunker, skulled his fifth over the green into the water, dropped, and dubbed his seventh into the other greenside bunker. His eighth almost flew over the green again, but stopped in the fringe just before the rough, and he chipped on and two putted. The series of shots he hit proved to be funny enough, but to add to the hilarity he was walking all over both bunkers. I couldn't get to the first bunker he hit it into right away because I was busy helping him figure out where to drop it near the lateral hazard. And then as I'm going to grab his putter he hits it into the other bunker and almost slips and falls while trying to get out, so he left a nice mark or two in the face. Two big bunkers to rake. Good times had by all.

At least Napoleon didn't dick me over on the tip. So that was refreshing. But man that was a lot of work. I suppose a lot of what he had me do is standard procedure for caddies, but when you're carrying two bags for two bad golfers and you have to work really hard just to keep the pace of play up, you definitely don't want to have to worry about dip, bloody mary's and beer runs.

Oh, and my reference to "sweet sweet tobacco" was sarcastic. I do not condone dipping. Well, I suppose you can if you want to. Just don't do it on the golf course.