Before I Forget Part 2

So when I came in to be a Caddie Master this morning two caddies showed up. Fine. They said they were told to go on the loop I had planned for them anyway. That’s fine. But then a third caddie came into the yard. I was a little confused.

“Are you supposed to be going out on that loop?”
”Fuck yeah dude. Why is Mike going on that loop instead of me?”

“Well…he told me that loop was assigned to him.”

“That’s fucking BULLSHIT man! I need money! I can’t just come into work for NOTHING!”

Crap. Do I have to pull that other kid off of the loop and chew him out for being a liar?

“Do you want me to say something to this kid?”

“No dude. Forget it.”

“No, let’s grab a cart here and talk to him.”

So I pull up to the range where this caddie is, motion for him to come over and talk with us, and just as I’m about to open my mouth, I hear:

“What the FUCK is your problem man? You need to get off of this loop. This is MY LOOP.”

“Umm…I was assigned to this loop.”

“Oh. Okay, fine.”

And then we drove off with this caddie in my cart bitching away.

(swig)

Startin’ to feel it a little bit. MAN I’m a light-weight.

So now I’m all nervous that I’ve screwed up the morning loops. Great. So I call the Caddie Master (who will be arriving around 11:30) to see if what I did was kosher, and I get no answer.

I’m STHUPER thanks for asking!

So now there’s nothing for me to do until 11:30-12 when this shotgun starts to congeal like a…a…oh crap. Time to get out the ol’ dictionary to pick out a Pee-Wee Herman secret word of the day.

Umm…okay. Got it. Romance? No way. That word sucks my left nut. Let me try again. Increment. Okay. Let’s see what I can do with THAT highly linear and worthless… MAN it’s hot in here. I’m going to go turn on the air conditioning.

And with that, let’s open up another beer.

There we go. I need to make sure I enjoy this beer in small INCREMENTS to make sure I’m focused enough to be understandable. Or not. But either way, I used the secret word. That’s right bitches.

So to quell this caddies’ bitch-fest, I decided to bring him back down to the caddie-room and putt on the carpet for money.

And yes, I’m sure that sounds really bad. Really really bad.

So we’re putting with his putter. Man. How can I make this NOT sound incredibly homosexual. Got it. So we were playing for big money. Or, well, at FIRST it was next to nothing.

“$2 for this game?”

And then it changed a bit.

“$2 for this putt?”

And then mutated.

“$160 for this putt?”

I’m not kidding. We placed two tees on the floor in order to simulate a hole. Yes, I know a NORMAL hole is 4.25 inches, but we weren’t that exact. But it was close. They were standing up like field-goal posts and when a player putted the ball, if he went in-between the tees it was 2 points, if he knocked over one of the tees it was 1 point, and if he missed the tees altogether it was 0 points. A game was 10 points and you had to win by 2. I won 2/3 games and figured we were about finished. Well, no. We had a long way to go. This game was just getting started.

“Alright, well I’m down $3 to you after that game. How about we see who can get the highest score off of one putt? I’ll bet you $3.”

Well, since I really didn’t WANT to take any money off of him, as long as I was safe from LOSING money I didn’t see any reason not to gamble.

So I won the first putt. Now he was betting me $6 a putt. Then $12. Then $24. My God. He just kept choking and I was Brad Faxon. Then, all of a sudden, I was up $160. So of course he wanted to putt for $160 dollars. Are you kidding me? If I were to make this and we stopped playing, I’d win $320? That’s insane. We’re in a freakin’ caddie room putting on a rug. We’re not even outside. $320? Okay. It’s your world boss. I’m just visiting.

And that reminds me. Not sure if I told you guys, but my boss flew me down to Florida to check out a new account. So Sunday through Tuesday I was in meet-and-greet mode trying to figure out if this offer from Florida would make sense to me. I’d be an Assistant Caddie Master, and if things go well, he’ll want to get me my own account someday. Okay. Piece of cake.

So I guess you could say things are going well at work. And oh boy did things go well on the trip. I got drunk with my boss in the airport bar before we boarded the plane to fly down, he showed me around some of the bars down there when we arrived, I was able to play golf with my boss and this new head-pro and birdied the final two holes to show them I can strike a golf ball even WITH the whippiest set of rentals I’ve EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. I went out with my boss that night to a restaurant called “Mulligans” (awesome, I know) and proceeded to challenge him to a drinking contest.

“Alright boss. We’re going drink-for-drink.”

“Okay.”

What? No pause? You mean I actually have to follow through with this? The guy weighs 50-60 pounds more than I do. AND I’m a light-weight. I’m screwed. And after the first couple of drinks, he announces to the bartender and some of the other patrons, “Now, based on sheer MASS and the way he’s pronouncing his ‘S’s’, do you think he’ll beat me?”

Of COURSE everyone said no.

Then a shot of SoCo and lime. Then another random concoction of the bartender’s. And then things got a little hazy, and the next thing I know I’m jumping over the fence at our hotel because the gate with the code wouldn’t work. So we parked illegally with our rental car (the “Cougar”) and hopped the fence where I’m SURE we were videotaped. Then I pass out.

I wake up the next morning on the pull-out bed in the living room of our suite. About 5 minutes later, the head pro walks INTO THE ROOM. My whole job while I’m down here is to impress this guy and make him feel comfortable giving me an annual salary while I have the time of my life and I’m freakin’ sleeping in the same clothes as last night. I’m most definitely looking like Bobby Brown AND Mike Tyson’s bitch and I feel like crap. It was one of those hangovers where even the sound of a gerbil farting gave me a headache. But as it turns out, the head pro was incredibly cool.

“What did you guys DO last night?”

“Oh, he tried to go drink-for-drink with me. And you’re looking at the result.”

GREAT START. Thanks boss. Although, there’s really no way OUT of this problem gracefully.

(swig)

Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about YOU little one.

“You know, these suites are really nice. This is the first time I’ve ever been in here.”

So I chimed in with, “Yeah. I christened the pull-out last night.”

Pause.

“Well I HOPE not.”

What? Oh. Peeing in it. Har har. Nope. Haven’t had THAT pleasure yet. But don’t worry, I definitely SHIT A BRICK when you just walked in Mr. Head Golf Professional at my FUTURE PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT.

But he was just cool. That’s the only way to describe him. He’s very laid back, extremely tolerant of another individual’s lifestyle (obviously, and to tell you the truth, I’m a little shocked at how much of this Florida experience involved alcohol. Am I going to be screwed come November?”

So then the head pro and my boss left together for their “meeting” and I was left to take a shower and wait for the newly appointed Caddie Master to arrive and meet up with me. So I hopped in the shower. It was awful. So painful. I felt like I was lying on a bed of rusty, herpes-ridden nails. With scabs on them. Oh yeah. You heard me. Big freakin’ scabs.

But seriously. The water was shooting out at me. I was like, “Dude, what the hell did I DO to you?” I’ve never had to take a shower and GUARD my freakin’ NADS. I’ve NEVER seen water shoot out like that. I told my boss about it later and he believed it was because they used 1-inch piping instead of 2-inch. SO much pressure. I can only hope my kids don’t come out with half a FACE someday.

But other than the abusive shower, the day was great. I met up with my new partner (the appointed Caddie Master), went over to the new account, and simply ogled my surroundings for about an hour before I left with my boss to grab something to eat and head back home. This course is MASSIVE. Links-oriented, 7400 from the back tees and a HIGH SLOPE RATING in freakin’ FLORIDA. Florida. Home of the flat-chested golf course. Now, there’s nothing WRONG with a flat-chested golf course. Flat-chested things can be fun. But Florida is not known for having courses with rolling hills and a feeling of PRIVACY. It’s a double edged sword out in this area. There isn’t a whole lot to do around the golf course (like more drinking I suppose), but the fact that you’re so secluded is such a nice change of pace from the normal hustle and bustle of Florida golf. Golf courses are NORMALLY around tourist traps and famous cities. And yes, I am a FREAKIN’ EXPERT on the subject. So please, correct me if I’m wrong. But this course was just BEAUTIFUL. And UNIQUE. Take the 10th hole for example. You tee off down a hill onto an ISLAND PAR 5. That’s right. The fairway, rough, bunkers, trees, and green are all contained on an ISLAND hole. I’ve never seen anything like it. And to make it over the water onto the fairway from the back tees you’d need to carry the ball 260 at LEAST.

“How long is this course from the tips?”

“Around 7400. But nobody plays the tips. Nobody. I mean, why would you?”

Because you’d like to say you did. Like a MAN.

But I was just floored. The clubhouse is gorgeous, the course is gorgeous, the practice area is HUGE, the caddie area is PLUSH and will be much nicer than my current caddie accommodations, and I get to work for a head professional that’s cooler than cool. I can’t imagine a better way to spend my winter than to go down to Florida and work at such an amazing place.

Although, that means I’ll have to learn how to be a Caddie Master. Which brings me back to this morning.

(swig)

So what was ACTUALLY supposed to happen was this 3rd caddie who came in was assigned to go with another group who never decided to show up. And he’s another fan of mary-jane, so of course he’s flipping out because he thinks he got screwed on another loop. In all actuality, everything worked out the way it was supposed to. Of course, I found this out from the Caddie Master when he came in, which of course made me feel like a huge jack-ass. If I had actually been able to LISTEN to the phone conversation we had the night before, everything would’ve been fine. I hope I can get into this whole caddie-mastering thing. I have a better future getting into THAT gig than remaining a caddie. I mean sure, I can caddie part time, but “caddie mastering” is the way to go.

Alright. Well that is the end of both the beer and my stories for now. I need to get some sleep before work tomorrow. Thanks for being patient with me everyone. Have a great night.