As I arrived at the golf course, sunglasses on to hide my puffy red eyes, to my surprise a number of my mates were already practicing their putting skills. Looking at them with their Ralf Lauren polo’s and their tight-checkered pants, I realized with my faded Ozzy Ozbourne tee-shirt and baggy shorts, that maybe I underestimated the importance of this competition. I too should have kitted myself in queer golfing clothes, or at least made an effort and worse some decent, respectable clothes. After a number of traumatized looks from the members, I pushed my way past them and went to the front desk to pay for my round.
We began practicing putting and chipping, and then decided as a group that maybe it would be best if we were to acquire the use of some extra benefits this illustrious golf course has to offer, more accurately, their golf buggies. So twenty-five dollars later I found myself behind the wheel of a motorized machine, a two-cylinder man made tool created for one purpose only, to hoon around the golf course pissing off as many old members as possible. As there was eight of us, we had four carts each, this meant that no one was left out. We teed off at the first hole, got into our carts and drove to where our balls lay. Convenient.
Many holes later and my concentration began to wonder. I was miss timing shots and on one ill-tempered occasion, bent my only two iron beyond repair on several, innocent near-by trees. I was now left with four clubs. Therefore I searched for other activities to compensate for this unexplainable lack of enthusiasm towards golf, and subsequently found one, driving the buggy with no regard for anyone’s safety including my own. My friends noticed me vigorously maneuvering the cart around the tender green and also soon followed suite. After we ran over a few flags, we found a track where we created a small rally course and set up time trials. Roughly one minute and twenty-four seconds was the best time. Yet still, this was not enough. We managed to scrounge up a rusty dirty old shovel, so, we began to dig in the secluded part of the course. We created a jump. Blood, sweat and tears were poured into this creation, so therefore I took on the responsibility to try it first. I prayed and slammed my foot on the accelerator as I “put the pedal to the metal” and the cart zoomed forward, giving me a slight case of whiplash. I gripped the steering wheel tight as I hit the steep incline, bracing myself for what was about to happen, but unfortunately, to no avail. I became stuck on the top of the mound much to the delight of my friends. I had disappointment written all over my face. As I looked to the other cart, the driver was laughing so hard, that he wasn’t paying attention to his vehicle and it began to slowly creep forward. Moments later he hit a ditch and consequently, the cart landed on its side. But the best is yet to come. The other cart was still racing on the track, attempting to break the previous record. He under steered a corner, attempted to compensate and as a result over steered, thus leading to the introduction of the tree. There was nothing he could do. The cart reached such a speed that there was no way out for him. He collided with the tree head on, and the tiny plastic frame of cart bent. The window cracked, and the motor stopped.
As good friends as we are, the initial reaction was to hit the floor laughing. After a brief period, we realized the amount of damage that was incurred, and a more serious note was taken. We lied to the Golf Club and after a strenuous inspection; the result was a two and a half thousand dollar fine and a ban for life at that Golf Course. It must be said, that now, as I am education and more experienced in life, looking back at what I did can be seen as very immature and childish behavior, however the teen years plagues our mind and makes us do rash and compulsive things which seem to be hilarious at the time, and on nights after if it was caught on camera, but later in life, the evilness of youth slowly deteriorates away.
