Friday, April 22, 2005

This Is Absolutely Ridiculous

Got into work today at 7:20 am. Guess when I got a bag? 1:30. Over six hours. It's not like it was hell or anything, I mean I did get to hear a lot of funny stories from my boss and the other caddies, but I was about ready to call it quits by that point. Plus, it was supposed to rain today. So you can bet I was happy as a pig in shit when my boss sent me out at 1:30.

It was a circus at the start. It was going to be a foursome, which meant that I was going to be carrying two bags (another caddie was helping with the other two). Okay, fine, I'm cool. But the two bags I was assigned were trunks. They were cart bags, and they were huge. So I had to run back inside and "switch out" all of their clubs into some newer and lighter bags. Not that hard of a task, but I was a little confused about the process of switching all of these things around, simply because caddies are not supposed to go into the player's bag. I mean I want to help them get prepared for the round, but what if they need balls? I can't go into their bag and get it for them. Obviously my little delay at the start meant a lot of running around to catch up, with me first bringing their original bags and clubs to the first tee, and then getting the two carrying bags so they could go into the pockets and switch out their balls and tees and such, and then running back and getting umbrella's, etc. I didn't even get to see the opening tee shots much less get anyone's name by the time everyone teed off. Oh yeah, and as soon as we started walking, the rain started falling in sheets.

As it turns out, both of the guy's I caddied for today are named Mike, and both of them sucked big hairy balls. I don't think you could be more random or inconsistent unless you were to take a "random walk" down Wall Street (a little financial reference for those of you who are dorks like me). It's been a while since I've seen bad players take the game so seriously. And trust me, I don't mind bad players. Normally. But I figure if you're this successful and you really don't have to work, why not spend some of those dollars on golf lessons?

But I digress. The worst part of today came on the second hole. First BOTH of my players (who actually played a bit of "cart golf" today which made it a little easier on me) were holding a synchronized skank-fest up the fairway, and then another guy in the foursome was trying to tame his umbrella, which had turned itself inside-out and was tearing and bending all over the place.

For a moment, I respected these guys. Even with all of this wind, rain, and cold, you're still out here trying to make the best of it. Because golf deserves that kind of a commitment. But then I was like: screw that. I have to work in this stuff. Why don't you just go home? Give it up. Please? But now that I think about it, I'm glad they didn't quit. Because even with all of the whiffs and near death experiences, they did tip us pretty well.

But I digress. AGAIN. I guess that's what I get for trying to write without editing. Lots of run-on's and random tangents. But it really is an easier way to write. So blah blah freakin' blah bitch blah. Haha. Let's keep going.

So the second hole. This guy is wrestling with his umbrella. Unsuccessfully wrestling with it. It is definitely kicking his ass. And one of the Mike's leans over to me and says, "I'm not using my umbrella, why don't you take care of him."

Fine. I'll bring him the umbrella damn it. But only if you promise to hit your ball 50 yards THAT WAY and make sure I don't have to lose a step when I hand it to him. He nodded and agreed.

So I traded umbrella's, only to find out that now I had to juggle carrying two bags, fumble around with the towels to keep the clubs dry, and hold onto a screwed up umbrella that acted more like a sail than anything you could hold over your head.

So here I am, sailing up the fairway, my feet are soaked (because my cross-trainers have vents in the top of them, which are obviously useful on a hot day in the sun, but with rain you're toast), and I almost drop one of the bags because these stellar "carrying bags" had crappy straps that kept making the bags lean more and more forward until the clubs started to slide out.

I guess the second hole wasn't really anything spectacular to tell you about, it was just that I was Mr. Multi-task and it took me until the next tee to make sure they had all their shit together, the head covers in the side-pockets, and that stupid broken umbrella was in the trash. I bent the hell out of that thing trying to fit it into that little trashcan. It will probably be pretty funny to whoever has to empty those things tomorrow morning.

Now I had a new request.

"Tom, we need cigars."

Holy crap. NOW??

"We need 4 cigars. Can you get those for us?"

Unfortunately for me, my customer service experience kicked in and I agreed to try and find a way to get them. Naturally, I passed it on to the other caddie. I mean he wasn't really doing anything at the time. Both of his players were pretty good sticks. And just as I suspected, after I asked him to call into the pro shop, he forgot.

Two holes later the guy asks me again.

"Did that other caddie call in to get us cigars?"

"I asked him but I'm not sure if he's called yet." He'll probably never.

"Well ask him again. We really need them."

I mean, I enjoy a good cigar as much as the next guy, but under the current weather conditions and attitudes of the players, I wanted to ask why he thought he "needed" them. But I agreed to ask the other caddie. Again.

"Dude, the halfway house is right over there. They have cigars."

"Oh."

Well thanks for letting me know. Sorry I asked. At least now when the guy interrogated me, I had an answer he'd like.

"I need some cigars damn you!"

"They're in the halfway house, right over there."

"Oh. Well good!"

And when the foursome finished the hole, who ends up walking right by the halfway house without stopping? My man.

"Sir, your cigars?"

"Oh yeah. Could you get them for me?"

Holy crap. God, why?

Again those damn customer service skills. So with a smile on my face I ran over, got four cigars, handed them to him, and hauled-ass up the fairway to watch their tee shots. Well I'm glad they finally have their cigars. Now only 3 of the balls are in the rough instead of 4.

I was caddying for two Mike's. The first Mike was down to earth, enjoyed talking with me from time to time, and was a good sport about his bad play. We'll call him "Cool Mike." The second Mike didn't really talk to me, had weird teeth, and played badly also, but there was something else. I couldn't tell whether he was fat or thin. It sounds stupid, but I really couldn't tell. You look at his face, and you immediately think he's fat. But then you look down to his legs, and they're skinny. And he has a baggy sweatshirt on so you can't tell if he has man-boobs and a gut. I'm lucky I didn't have to read any greens today or give out too many yardages (oh boy was that funny too), because I couldn't take my eyes off of this guy. We'll call this one "Deceptively Fat Mike." Because I think he was, but I don't think we'll ever know.

And the yardages. This was the funniest part of today. Again, I don't have it in for bad golfers, so don't let this section offend you if you're just taking up the game or are struggling with it, but these rich guys couldn't play to save their lives. And that's why yardages were so funny today. I'd give them a yardage, and they'd shank it, or hit it fat, or skull it, or whiff it, or all kinds of other things. So my quandary today was: why give them yardages at all? Regardless of what I tell them they're going to mishit it.

"Alright 'Deceptively Fat Mike,' you have 146 to the front of the green and 161 to the flag."

Pause.

"What was the distance again?"

"161 to the pin."

Whiff.

"What is the yardage now?"

"157."

Shank.

"How far do you think that one will be from the green?"

"Whatever it is, you don't have that club in your bag, sir."

No, I didn't really say that. But who could've blamed me if I did? I mean seriously, WHY give someone the yardage when they have no use for it. I mean it's nothing bad. They could've gotten in some practice with some of their other clubs today. They could've just treated today more like a driving range than a golf match. But no. Mr. "Deceptive" needs to stare down his missed putt like Tiger, because he's THAT GOOD.

So yeah. That was pretty much my day. I may have sounded a little angry, but I really did have fun. I just really need to buy some waterproof shoes. I'd wear my golf shoes, but apparently that's murder on your feet when caddying. Anyway. Take care guys.

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