STORY OF THE DAY

So, last week I got my old job back at Biltmore Country Club. Exciting stuff. Minus the heat, the first go-round was a blast - definitely my favorite job ever. Anyways, I signed up for round two and started yesterday. Like the people, love the golf, need the money. Perhaps the best part of the job, besides those things, are the random happenings that make the days interesting. In the summer mid-week we aren't super busy, so we need these things to keep us entertained. The second best part is that we are basically allowed to stand our ground if someone is being a douche bag for no apparent reason. Today was that day.

About 7am I was sitting out on the lot when a 7 Series all done up with body kit and dubs rolls in. This is nothing new, I deal with rich people all day. So, the guy pulls up, pops the trunk, and gets out. I take the clubs, and him and his buddy say something or other about thanks, yada, yada. It doesn't take a genius to realize the difference between someone actually saying thanks and someone just saying it out of obligation. The driver was a decent enough guy, but his buddy thought he was pretty hot shit and just kind of whatever. No big deal to me - it was early, and I wasn't in the mood. So, I took the clubs, closed the trunk, and that was that. Happened to notice the custom plate on the car just said "91" - obviously an athlete. Only thing was it was a wirey white dude no bigger than me driving. But wait, he had a Russian accent. Hockey player, gotta be. After some googling on the BB I figured out who it was, and yes, he is a rather talented hockey player. You know, if you're into that kind of thing. I later noticed he had a little replica of his own jersey hanging from his rear view mirror. So I guess he kind of is a douche. Whatever.

So the day goes along and I'm just doing my thing when they roll up alongside the green at #9, not too far from the front of the clubhouse and where I'm at. Apparently dbag friend is upset that he hasn't been helped by the beverage cart girls yet, but it's only 8:30 so what can you really expect? We can't even serve alcohol that early in the morning. But this guy, he wants his booze. So naturally, he yells at me about how he hasn't been served yet. You get used to unreasonable rich people, and more so their friends who think they're entitled to douchebaggery because they're with someone rich; so again, I was fine with it. I told him the girls would be around soon and if he wanted something that second the restaurant bar was open literally 50 yards away from where he was. Apparently he didn't like that answer and proceeded to mumble something or other and then come at me with his wallet out. Interesting. He pulled a $20 halfway out of it and I was kind of surprised. However, he then decided to smirk, sarcastically say "thanks for the help," and flip me four quarters. Well, two can play that game.

I told him to keep his four quarters and also threw in that a drink wasn't going to help that triple digit pace he was on for the round (1. We have "ranger mode" on our GPS, and I get to see what everyone on the course is shooting. It's awesome 2. He was at something like 53 through nine. AKA, awful). Needless to say, he didn't enjoy me knocking his garbage golf game and proceeded to throw some language at me and challenge me to a hole for that 20 spot he slid back in his wallet. I just laughed and asked him if he was serious. Knowing what he was shooting, there was no question in my mind. But, he insisted. What am I supposed to do? Say no? Pleeeeease.

So, we drove back to the tee, and long story short I kicked his ass. Good times, and a free $20 (although it went to the tip poke and not straight to my wallet. I play by the rules). Needless to say he was still livid when he came back around after the back nine, and as a final attempt at salvaging his manliness left his cart in the parking lot. You know, like a classy individual would do.

I love my job.