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“Gimme whichever cart has a fan on it!”
“Y’all given any thought to putting a dome over this course so it’ll be a little cooler?”
“I only want the range balls that’ll go straight!”
“Yeah, let me get a cart key and three birdies from ya!”
“Think I might quit golf, y’all give bowling lessons out here or do I need to go somewhere else for that?”
Six days a week, at least one (but normally five to ten) time a day, I’ll hear some variation of one of the jokes above. The topics are always the same. Weather, playing ability, equipment proficiency, some superficial observation made on the walk from the parking lot to the pro shop. I’ve had enough.
You know that scene in Office Space when they talk about a case of the Mondays? That’s me. That blank, lifeless, one hair trigger provocation away from Hulk-smashing everyone in sight expression he gives is my resting work face whenever these comedians step through the door.
Being in the golf business, I know it comes with the territory because technically this is the entertainment industry. It’s my job to provide an environment for people to come enjoy themselves. The only difference between the crap I have to listen to from these old men and the crap that strippers have to listen to from old men is that everybody keeps their clothes on (thankfully) and the pay is probably worse. And being in a position of authority, I can fire back some smart ass remark laced with enough sarcasm to disarm the conversation, but not enough contempt that I feel satisfied in my rebuttal to the latest one liner tossed to me like I’m a test audience for some shitty NBC sitcom.
So, in an attempt to regain some dignity, I’m considering charging for shitty pro shop jokes. Want to ask me if the A/C is working out on the 100 degree golf course that’s been 100 degrees for the past twenty days in a row? Go right ahead; just pop a dollar into the bad joke jar. Feel like complaining about our pencils not having erasers on them so you couldn’t fix your scorecard to scam your buddy out of your 50-cent Nassau? Payment is due ahead of service, so have your money out.
I’ll even put the money to a good cause, donate it to the First Tee, or maybe some local charity here in town (like my wallet), but this unrestricted open mic night everybody’s been having here has got to stop. I’m not your wife. I don’t have to listen to these quips because we’ve been married so long that I’ve lost any survival skill I ever had and would starve to death if we divorced. You want to have a real conversation with me? Go right ahead, I’m all ears, but the second you throw out some unfounded remark I’m going to hand you the jar because this convo just stopped being free. .