The Six Year Plan - Golf Guy Tales, Range of War

Dear Reader,

Guest writer here to tell about one of my tales from working on a golf course. What seems to be a refined and rich sport taken from a part-timer and golfer view.

A CART GUY-it's like war, but professional.

Now to get started, I worked at a golf course near my high school so that I could make money and play golf for free. The atmosphere was professional, and the customers were either rich people playing as a member, or a public redneck playing for the beer and profanity. The biggest point was that nobody tipped for service. The official position I had as a cart guy was to clean carts, park carts, stock things, and pick the range. Yup, I was that guy you hit balls at as a target on the driving range. At the time I could not drive a golf cart because I was not legally allowed to, (tricked the club into hiring me thinking that I was 16) so the compromise was that I pick the range by hand. Spring starts up and all the avid golfers want to get ready to play again. What I was unaware of was that they all decided to show up at the same time.

WORLD WAR RANGE-tips are for the wounded

It's warm outside with a small breeze, and above are few clouds with a comforting sunny sky. I'm trailing out on foot to pick the driving range like normal, just listening to some music to make time go by quicker. Imagine someone frolicking in an open range picking up golf balls like eggs into a basket. Everything was fine until I noticed a ball rolling by. I was just thinking about why when reality set in, but it was too late. It rained golf balls around me like gunfire in paintball. I made a run for the nearest tree while carrying my baskets of labor. I was 20 yards away when the first one hit. It took me square in the back and I fell flat. The baskets spilled and I was in pain, but I was still not safe. Biting my lip, I got up and staggered, but that was when the second hit me in the leg. Before lunging into the tree with my good leg, I heard in the distance "Daddy I got him!" Some kid was proud, and I was cowering in fear.

Licking my wounds next to the tree I quickly noticed the bursts of laughter coming from my coworkers. Both were by the picker (cart) a couple yards away, standing with clubs in hand next a pile of balls just as if they too were hitting at me. Just as I wanted to regain my lost effort of labor, one of them chips a ball towards me jokingly. I overreacted and dove back, but then a sharp pain hit my ass. The second coworker, being a beginner who also meant to also chip a ball, instead line drives one up my rear. Shouting in pain I rolled and rolled in pain. "NO MORE!" I yelled. I got up, got in the picker, and ran both my coworkers over and hit balls back at the golfers.

At this point I was pretty confident that I was in trouble. I'm hurting, my coworkers are a little bruised up, (their injuries were self-inflicted from running away) and I had chased off all the golfers by hitting back the golf balls they hit at me. I was walking back to the club house worrying about keeping my job,every step giving me pain from my rear and leg, but that's when I heard someone call for me. One of the golfers I chased off waved me to me to come over to the parking lot. I hate apologizing for what I think was justified as right, but I was ready to start pleading to avoid punishment. Just as I got up to him, the other golfers who were at the range showed up too. It was a semi-circle doom, but I had no idea what was going on. I got out the words "I'm sor..." and one of them handed me a wad of cash. "This is for making us piss ourselves in laughter and literally giving us a run for our money. See you next week."

And THAT is how I made my first tip.

So the next time you go play golf and see a guy on the driving range, tip him. He puts his life in danger everyday to make sure you can hit more balls back at him. And since photos make things look more interesting, here is a photo of some vandalism we dealt with.

Until Next Time


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