Sunday, July 03, 2005


After 12 hours of sleep and recovering from one of the worst hangovers in the history of EVER, I arrived at 7:15 this morning rarin' to go.

You're probably reading that last sentence goin', "12 HOURS of sleep? Why?"

Well, the night before I met up with a friend and drank a crapload of alcohol. Then I stayed up all night. Then I drove straight to the course. Then I sat and nursed a bottle of water for 2 hours, and then WORKED on a FREAKIN' HANGOVER. Little tip for everyone: don't caddie on a hangover. And I know that's a good tip to share, seeing as how most of you are going to be in that situation OFTEN. So when 3:30 rolled around, I was pretty tired. My head hit the pillow around 5 and that was all she wrote.

So here I am, rested and ready to deal with just about anyone. Even old Korean men. Which was a good thing because I was in fact ASSIGNED some old Korean men. And, oh, almost forgot. Two Korean women too. And one of them was SMOKIN' hot. I mean hotter than hot. Screw the courtesy "I'll look down the fairway just to assure you that I'm not staring at your ass Miss." I'm just going to go ahead and stare. So that's what I did. So I ran today, oh yes, but I think I stared quite a bit too.

Normally this group has a regular caddie, but he's been out smoking crack--literally--and hasn't been into work for a while so the boss decided to stick me with this group and see how I worked out.

Before the round started, I was only able to introduce myself to two of the four members of the group. Why? I have no idea. I mean, they ARE Korean. That may have something to do with it. The other two just avoided speaking with me until they knew they absolutely HAD to.

But one of them--a heavy-set Korean man with a heart of sausage--let's call him "Mr. Sumo," was walking by with a club in one hand and a sleeve of balls in the other. So as I outstretched my hand to make some sort of contact with this massive PLANET of a man, he made no effort to throw the sleeve of balls in his pocket and deliver a good firm handshake. He simply extended three of his fingers and kept walking. That’s all he gave me. So I took it. I shook three of his fingers. Hell yeah.

Then I met his incredibly hot daughter.

"Hi, I'm Tom. I'll be helping you out--"

"Don't read my putts. If I want some advice, I'll ask."

That's right. Talk dirty to me. MAN you're hot.

And then we were off.

Well on the first hole, I think the old Korean buttheads felt I was some sort of threat because they made every effort they could to end the "power struggle" as soon as possible. They wanted to show EVERYONE that THEY were in control of the group and I wasn't. And you know what? That's fine. Although, here's another little tip: a caddie is in a subservient position ANYWAY. There's no need to try and push us further down from the title of HUMAN BEING.

So on the first hole, Mr. OKM (Old-Korean-Man) is walking over to his incredibly short drive. He takes a look back towards the tee and starts thinking about two things: First, he's thanking God that his tee-ball finished past the ladies' tee so he wouldn't have to whip out his incredibly small pack of Rolaids. Secondly, he's looking at the club in his hand wondering, "Wow, that was an incredibly short drive. I wonder if this club can even get there. Maybe I should go get another."

So as he's standing there looking at his club, looking towards the hole and improving his lie, I feel I have to say something to get him over the ball and swinging.

"Sir, I can run over and grab you a different club if you want something else."

"Listen: I will TELL you when I need another club. OKAY?"

Whoa. Well it's a good thing we've got that straightened out. Thank God that's what I DO ANYWAY. I mean is there a freakin' ECHO out here or something? What crawled up into your sphincter this morning and started playing Kenny G?

But you know what? That's fine. If that will increase the size of his penis, then so be it. Sir, I am lower than maggots. Wait. Less than that. I am lower than the smallest, crappiest, most pathetic earthworm in existence. I just work here because it's an awesome self-esteem booster.

And then about 2.28 minutes later, I'm running over to hand little-miss-hottie the clubs she requested only to find out that they weren't her clubs. I had grabbed an 8 and a 9 iron from the wrong bag. This meant that Mr. Sumo (the other Korean man and Miss Hottie's father) had to start yelling across the fairway, "She needs her clubs! You need to get her her clubs!"

Yeah. So that was the first hole. Good times.

Another thing had me worried. Before we teed off, one of the staff guys reminded our group that today was "cart path only." Apparently the course took on some water after yesterday's storm and the Superintendent was asking that all golfers stay out of the fairways with their carts. Now forecaddying would be a bit of a challenge under those conditions. Normally, when players can drive right out to their ball, you don't feel any pressure as a caddie because the cart is right there. If they decide at the last minute that they should hit that 5 iron instead of a 6, they CAN without any problems. But if carts aren't allowed in the fairway at ALL then that means I have to be calling out ONE number, and that's it. I can't get over the shot and start strategizing with them or telling them they should take one more, because their cart isn't right THERE anymore. Now it's way off to the side. So whatever club they have in their hand, that's it. They have to use it. Game over man. Game over.

Fortunately for me, I was forecaddying for 2 old Korean men. Cart path only? SCREW THAT. We don't care about the condition of the course. Let's just drive anywhere we want to.

And so they did.

To stop me from saying anything to the staff, Mr. OKM leaned over on the 2nd hole and said, "I know we're driving on the fairway, but one of the staff guys said it was okay."

Sir, I was THERE when you had this supposed "conversation" with one of the staff guys, and he told you "no." But you know what? I'll let it slide. Because I know you're crappy tippers and I don't want to ruin anything I might get at the end by yelling at you for driving where you’re not supposed to. Plus, allowing you to drive up to your shots in the fairway makes my job a little easier. So go for it little guy.

To be honest, the round was pretty uneventful. A skank skank here and a skank shank there, here a skank, there a skank, everywhere a skank skank. Oh yeah, and everyone was VERY quiet. Nothing was ever funny to them and aside from the occasional yelling of Mr. Sumo (“Mark my ball!”), you could hear a chipmunk talking DIRTY it was so quiet. On the 16th I made a loud grunting noise because Mr. Sumo somehow hit an amazing shot that grazed the cup (almost a hole in one). Sounds normal, right? Well one of the guys in the group on 15 started staring me down after that. I guess he didn’t LIKE my grunting noise. Guess it reminded him of his ugly wife or something. I wanted to yell over: you don't understand! This guy usually sucks wang! But you know what? I don't think they would understand.

On 17 I could've sworn I heard Mrs. OKM fart, but I really can't be sure. I turned my head as she was walking over to her ball and then off in the distance I heard a loud RIIIIIPP. It was over in her direction. That’s all I'm saying.

I also felt something in my right leg pop as I was running and almost fell over in the fairway. I'm not sure what it was, but I think I need to start stretching. I mean, I DO stretch. But I “suppose” what “I’m doing” is no where NEAR sufficient. Oops.

After it was all over, even though hardly ANYTHING was said the whole round, they all congratulated me on a job well done. So I got that goin' for me. Which is nice.


Ron Mon said...

You know, a looper, a jock. . . I love OKM and Mr. Sumo, not to mention the hottie. And hey, if the fourth member cracks one off every now and again, you've had a great day!!

Funniest thing I ever saw, at The Links At Gettysburg two summers ago. I was walking, and the guys ahead were crossing the fairway with their bags on their backs. "Cool" says I, "more compadres hoofing it." Alas, I was mistaken. Rather than take two or three clubs to their golf balls from their carts, they had dislodged the entire sack of sticks, as thought it was either a wedge or a 3-iron, so I'll take the whole bag, just to be safe. Well, believe you me that I let the ranger know about that crap.

Rolaids, huh? Too bad it wasn't thundering and lightning-ing out. After all the Good Lord would never interrupt the greatest round of their lives!

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