April 28, 2006

Only The Finest Fore Our Clients

Posted in Keeping Up With The Cients at 6:55 pm by devilwearsbrooksbrothers

My father loves golf and for as long as I can remember, has tried to make my sister, brother and I love it too.  Every year I vow that this is the year I will learn to love it; and every year, by hole seven or eight, I give up and spend the rest of the morning driving the cart and making educated guesses as to where my brother's ball landed.

So, last year when my boss asked me to be a beverage bitch for our firm's golf outing, I thought I had discovered the perfect solution.   Beverage bitch was everything I loved about the sport with none of the things I didn't, for instance, pretending to understand what my father means when he says things like "open up your club face a bit, kid."

The morning of the outing we sat there signing in clients and giving them their goody bags when I saw him; the partner that scares the crap out of me. I knew he golfed, and I knew he belonged to that club, but my unrelenting dread of this man clouded my brain from realizing that I would be spending the entire day in close proximity to him at his club.  I suddenly knew I would have to make some kind of bargain to get the other girls to serve his party; after all, they are the ones who were always saying he wasn't so bad.

And to be fair, he has never given me any real reason to be afraid of him.  He has never yelled at me or raised his hand in anger towards me.  He has never left me threatening mail, voicemail or email.  He has even tried to crack a couple of jokes with me.  Paralyzed by fear, I never dared to laugh, but he has made some funny comments now and again.

I managed to go most of the day without any significant screw-ups or run-ins with Mr. Scares-the-Crap-Out-of-Me; the HR director, who was riding shotgun, even complimented me on my cart driving capabilities.  Suddenly, I was having delusions of grandeur, picturing the next partners meeting where it would be discussed that I should be in charge of the next golf outing, and given a raise.

In my reverie, I drove up a hill to check on a group of golfers, they didn’t want anything.  I started to deftly perform a k-turn on the hill when I couldn't get the cart to go forward.  I had backed up, disengaged the reverse, applied a little bit of pressure to the pedal, but the cart kept going back down the hill. I panicked.  I put the cart in reverse, pulled it out of reverse, applied pressure and again started back down the hill.  And again I panicked.

I looked at the HR director who was surprisingly calm considering our impending doom.  "Try giving it more gas."

What I had forgotten in my panic was that golf carts are like manual transmission cars, they fall back before going forward.  What I didn't realize was that in all my falling back, my back wheel had wrapped around the rope marking off the out of limits area.  What happened when I finally pulled forward was that I brought with me about thirty feet of rope and flags.

Fortunately for me, a member of the grounds crew was nearby to witness the whole thing.

After he untangled us, and started putting the stakes back in the ground, I apologized for the seventieth time.  He smiled and said it really wasn't a problem.  I assessed the damage I caused, and looked at the landscaper.  "Can you do me a favor and not tell Mr. Scares-the-Crap-Out-of-Me?"  He smiled and said sure.  But his eyes said, "I don't know why Mr. Scares-the-Crap-Out-of-Me would care."

I can only assume the landscaper was true to his word since they invited me back this year.  Hopefully this year I will leave the course in the same condition I found it.  I’ll keep you posted.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: