The Day I Got Caught in a Golf Cart
I have been known to be prone to accidents. Or awkward situations. Or accidental awkward situations. Anyhow, my life has a bet of the awk. And it only seems to intensify on a daily basis.
This much is true.
Facts about me:
- I am the girl who, en route to my first college theater audition, was told “Break a leg!” I promptly then fell off a curb. And fractured my ankle.
- I broke a toe by running into a door. The door in my bedroom. At my PARENT’S HOUSE. Yeah, that’s just a teensy bit pathetic.
- I’ve had a bird poop on me. In the middle of a work meeting. (See: “Is it really good luck when a bird poops on you?”)
- I can’t figure out how to change a light bulb in my kitchen. Seriously, this is driving me crazy. If anyone knows how to help/wants to help here, it would be most appreciated. I am cooking in the dark.
- I had the most embarrassing run-in with a guy in my elevator. Whom I have never ever seen again. (See: “Rom Com? No, how about Awk Com? With banana bread.“)
And it has gotten worse.
So at work we have a golf tournament every year.
I’m still too poor of a golf player to have a team (aka I am a terrible golfer, but have a rockin’ set of clubs), so I just administered a putting contest, among other things.
They (the golf club) gave me a golf cart.
Okay. That’s fine. I can *totally* drive a golf cart. (I can, too!)
But here’s the dilemna.
I have temporary relief come so that I could go get a drink of water, use the restroom, etc.
The club gave me the cart for the purpose of administering the golf tournament. So I assumed, it would be easy as pie to get back to the club from the green.
Did you know that they golf cart roads all go one-way? Even from the practice putting green??
So I hopped into said cart, and start to go down the road and around a shrub–to what looked like I was heading to the club house. Meanwhile, some fratastic people on the course (ie individuals who composed the oh-so-lovely drunk and swearing Halloween partiers who woke me up at 3 and 4 am–see “Overcoming Obstacles with Ginger Cookies”) teed off on the adjacent hole.
I saw them at the corner of my eye, but headed straight, confident that the other side of the bush would take me to the club house.
It did not.
With a steep hill on one side, a large maze-like shrub on the other–I realized I was heading straight for the fratty. My road was a one-way– and end at the fratastic crew’s hole.
So I decided to try and make for a stealthy turn around. A clean getaway.
The path was narrow.
My golf cart was big.
Stealth was the name of the game.
I was pretty sure one of the guys thought I was a moron, I did not want to add fuel to the fire.
“I can totally turn around here,” I thought to myself, confidently. “They’ll never know.”
I start to turn the car. And promptly get stuck. There was not room to make a full turn without reversing and going forward–a lot.
Still, stealth was on my mind. I could do this, I just needed to be as quiet as humanly possible. They would never have to know.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
HOLY CRAP! Why did no one ever tell me that golf carts make ridiculous BEEPS when you reverse?
Stealth, you vacated the building. Ridiculous obviousness ensued. My beeping signaled my location and my ridiculousness–for all on the golf course to hear, only the privileged few to witness.
BEEP BEEP. Forward forward forward in drive. BEEP BEEP. Reverse reverse the cart.
Out of the corner of my eye (why do they not put rearview mirrors in golf carts?) I noticed the entire foursome stopped their game. They were staring at me, smiles fully in evidence. Somehow, I didn’t think they were laughing with me.
And then I got stuck.
I mean, really stuck.
Perpendicular to the road. Sideways. Bush ahead. Way higher hill than I had previously thought behind me. The cart didn’t have enough OOMPH to get onto the hill and make a seamless turn. My fratastic friend watched from the corner of his eyes-not so successfully trying to pretend that he *wasn’t* watching and mocking me. I saw the jeering look on his face. Don’t think I didn’t.
“Okay, Mr. Golf Cart,” I said to my car (very quietly, of course, so those guys couldn’t hear me–I didn’t want them to think I was even weirder for talking to inanimate objects. But the card needed a boost.). “Let’s do this!”
And so, inch by inch, slow slow slowwwwwwwwlllllly, I turned the cart around. A second of drive here. A second of an irritatingly LOUD beeping reverse there.
An eternity passed. (Or well, what actually was probably only five minutes or so–but when you are embarrassed it feels like an eternity.) Finally……I managed to turn the cart around fully.
I raced that cart away from the hole sort of accidentally on purpose/not exactly planned to go so quickly.
And nearly collided with a cart going the right way on the course.
They were nice and elderly. And looked sympathetic as I continued on around them and apologized profusely.
I made it to the restroom, to water, to safety.
Who knew driving a golf cart would be so hard?
I seriously hope Mr. Fratastic did not video me. Though, I’m sure the footage, paired with some campy music (Maybe Carmina Burana’s “Oh Fortuna?“), would be pretty hysterical on youtube. I’d watch it.
Driving on a golf course in a golf cart when you are not playing the game is ridiculously hard, y’all. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
And will just eat some delectable PUMPKIN BREAD from Trader Joe’s now.
|Trader Joe’s Pumpkin Bread Mix|
Because pumpkin makes everything better, right?
Even if I did make it from a mix. (Just add vegetable oil, two eggs, and water.) Pretty tasty stuff that has magical healing properties. This pumpkin bread is so moist and, well, pumpkin-ey, that it helps to erase all memories of past embarrassment.
MMM…. so good.
Just don’t take it to the golf course.
|Finished product: Trader Joe’s Pumpkin Bread.|