After waiting a week or so, I found out I had made it to
the caddy qualifying stage at Richland. I was to report to the caddyshack at seven
am sharp and begin walking the course with the other dozen or so prospective
caddies. I once again drove my Alfa but this time I headed up the proper drive
way and parked in a space far enough away from the members.
Not only was I going to walk the course I was to caddy
for the asshole. The first three holes at Richland are impossible—straight uphill.
I tried my best to keep ahead of the golfer but I was already lagging behind.
Let’s face it, I was at least twenty years older than the second oldest caddy,
I was trying my best but time was not my friend. By the time we reached the
ninth hole Daniel the demonstrative was on my case. He was constantly
correcting me for calling the flagstick a flag and that I wasn’t quick enough.
Now when I look on TV and see the professional caddies, they seem to be walking
at a moderate pace and staying behind the golfer. When I pointed this out to
Daniel he said. “This is a private club and I expect you to be perfect. I f you
want to apply for the PGA Tour, good luck to you, but it’s never gonna happen,
so you might as well get with the program—my program. Let’s see how you do
tomorrow, but I have a feeling this job is not in your future. I hope you can
prove me wrong.”
The next day I was going to caddy for two players, Daniel
and Mike. That meant I had to carry two heavy bags. One was bad enough, but
two! I knew it was going to be a struggle. I went home and grabbed two golf
bags from my closet and filled them with the correct amount of clubs (fourteen)
and weighed them down with dozens of golf balls. They roughly seemed the same
weight as the bag I had been carrying earlier in the day. When I placed the two
bags on either shoulder, I had a hard time keeping the straps from falling down.
I knew tomorrow was going to be a disaster.
When I arrived back a Richland it was a beautiful day in
early spring without a cloud in the sky. That soon changed. Storm clouds were
rolling in fast. Daniel and Mike told me to follow them out to the first tee
and we would try to get nine holes in before the rain came. The two golfers
teed off and I grabbed their two bags and placed them on either shoulder. I was
doing alright as long as I walked at a medium pace but as soon as I tried to
get in front of them (which is what I was required to do) they began to sip
down my arm. I was getting dirty looks from Daniel, but Mike seemed to be a
little understanding of my dilemma. I was watching the other caddy, probably
thirty years my junior having no problem at all. What was I thinking when I
applied for this job? I knew I loved gold and I thought it was going to be
breeze carrying a bag, handing out the proper club and reading putts, (something
I am very good at) but it wasn’t working out like I had planned. Daniel and I
were in the ninth fairway when he said, “You know James, of the nine holes we
played today, you only did well on one. I’m going to give you one more chance
at the green. If you don’t hold the flagstick properly, read the putt correctly
and not make any mistakes, you can try again tomorrow.”
Daniel’s
clubs were resting on the fairway about three yards from a fast moving stream.
Now the old me would have picked up that golf bag and nonchalantly thrown them
into that body of water. Thank God I had grown up a little. Instead I let him
have it verbally. “Look Daniel, I have been trying my best to do all the things
you said but I guess I’ just not cutting it. I love the game of golf, but if I
kept on going with this caddy thing. I would soon learn to hate it. I don’t
want that to happen so I quit. I thought at sixty years of age I was not too
old to handle caddying, but I guess I was wrong. Imagine what it would be like
in the ninety degree heat with a hundred percent humidity. I would literally die.
So it’s best we nip this thing in the bud.”
“Are you
sure, James?”
“Are you
kidding me, Daniel? You don’t want me here anymore than I want to be here at
the moment.”
“That’s not
exactly true.”
“Oh come on.
Hey, by the way, you know that five star restaurant in Napa Valley? I checked
it out on the internet, and there is no way in the world you could have had a
four figure meal unless you ordered everything on the menu twice . . . and
those truffles? I think you were exaggerating the cost just a trifle. Hey, trifle
truffles, I like that. So what I mean to say is, you are completely full of
shit. So as Johnny Paycheck so aptly coined in song—take this job and shove it.”
I
walked off the ninth fairway and headed to my car in the parking lot without
turning around. I didn’t have to; I could tell exactly what the expression on
his face would be. Shocked. I felt vindicated. So it was back to the drawing
board. My sister had mentioned Uber. I had no idea what Uber was, but it was
going to play a part in my future. Once again Susan came through. Yes!
