Golf Course Employee

I was only fifteen which meant I couldn't get a work permit from school. I wanted a job something awful. We had just moved to a new town, I had almost no friends and I wanted someting to do with my time. Plus I had develped a voracious appetite for music and wanted to buy more cassette tapes than mom or dad could possibly keep up with. Birthdays and Christmas were just to infrequent. My mom wouldn't let me work at the local swap meet known as Denio's Auction becuase, well, it was a bit seedy. I argued with her, but in hindsight she knew best. My friend Roger met a kid who worked there and the kid gave Roger a live demonstration of how peanut butter spread in the right places could get a dog to, well, treat you right. Movin' on...

The public golf course in town was rumored to hire young 'un for under the minimum wage but without work permits. Diamond Oaks was a working man's golf course and drew a pretty fun loving crowd. In the classic golf movie Caddyshack it was the slobs against the snobs. Diamond Oaks belonged solidly to the slobs.

I applied and was hired. It felt great to have a job, to be able to brag about it to my older brothers, all of whom had stayed behind when my mom, dad, baby brother and I moved north. I'd make them proud with how grown up I'd become now that I was the oldest sybling in the house.

The newest child employee at Diamond Oaks would start on the driving range. I thought this was the coolest. I got to drive a Quad-Runner ATV back and forth across the range towing a device that swept all the golf balls up and dropped them in baskets. I couldn't believe I got to drive something, with a real gas burning motor even. My mom was reluctant to let us drive the little cars at Disneyland, so I was not an experienced Quad pilot. The range had to be swept throughout the day, while the range was in use! While operating the quad you were enclosed in a cage that was welded to the vehicles frame. The golfers loved to see us out there and would aim for us. The balls would wack against that cage with such force, I would wince every time just waiting for one to come through and brain me. Mom said that Quads were dangerous, but I don't think this is quite what she envisioned.

One day a pretty decent driver was hitting his target (me) repeatedly and with great force. One ball hit the cage hard enough to actually get stick. I tried to go faster, or to weave, but to no avail. Finally, after the cage recieved another dent I sat up straight and gave the bastard the finger. After a brief moment of silence a cheer came up from the crowd followed by a hail storm of golf balls against the cage. I freed several more birds, recieving cheers each time. I finished the sweep and then made my way to the pro shop expecting to be fired.

"Good job kid." The boss didn't seem to know about my little temper tantrum. "Keep it up."
I was smart enough not to give up too much information. "If you get tired of giving 'em the finger point at your ass and tell 'em to kiss it." !!!

I was surprised and confused. "So you know that I flipped that guy off?"

"Flip 'em all off. They love it. I sold more buckets of balls today than I have all month. Word gets out quick when I get a new kid in here."

The entertainer in me loved this new stage and I began to pride myself on how many buckets of balls would move durring my shift. I learned to drive while waving my ass in the air, to push my knee up against the accelerator allowing a two handed flipping off, and most importantly I learned that you had to let the audience feel like they were getting to you. Long after I'd gotten to trust the cage with my life I'd jump and flinch and give an angry fist in the air when someone hit it especially hard. I have always had a tendancty to take things too far when I'm enthusiastic, and when I turned the Quad toward the golfers and gunned it, I was moved on to a new task.

Once the balls were swept off the range they had to be put through the washer so the could be put back in buckets and re-used. The ball washing machine was great in the summer. As soon as the sun went down we'd get to washing the balls and the golf carts. We'd all end up soaking wet, a nice treat after a day of working in the hot sun. Come winter this job became hell. The water was ice cold and the balls dropped into a deep basin that we'd have to reach into again and again until we couldn't feel the tips of our frozen fingers. The golfers liked to drink, usually the little one jigger bottles. They'd frequently leave a few of these in their carts and if the senior kids who got cart washing and parking duty brought in enough booty they'd share. This would help with the cold, increasing our inner warmth and reducing our giving a crap weather we got all the balls out of the tank or not.

One of the older boys taught us how to alter the carts so that they could go much faster. It was a simple matter of removing a limiter. Golf Cart rodeo became my favorite sport. Golf carts flying through the air, golf carts on two wheels Dukes of Hazzard style, and finally golf hart landing on me, it's full weight coming down on my shin. Miraculously I came out of it with just a limp and a need for some butterfly bandages. No accident report was filed, and so no golf cart priveledges were lost.

I went golfing once and found it to be the most boring sport every created. Not even the jigger bottles helped. I decided I'd rather spend my off time learning to caddy so I could earn even more dough (and jigger bottles).

My brothers came up to visit for Christmas and I was proud to take them all to the range for some free driving practice. Someone must have called in sick and so my brothers and I had a great time driving golf balls against the cage as my boss drove it back and forth across the range. He gave lessons and was well respected as a semi-pro golfer so he didn't give the finger or shake the fists and it became a challenge to see if we could get any reaction from him at all.

I asked for Christmas day, a big golf day, off to hang out with my brothers before they went home. My request was denied. I got up Christmas morning, opened presents, had way to much candy and realized about a half an hour after my shift should have started that I'd forgotten to go to work. I called in and explained what happened and told them I was on my way. I worked what was left of my shift in silence and as I entered the pro-shop to clock out I found a check with my time card. My would be golf pro boss had the old guy who worked with him in the shop tell me that they wouldn't be needing me anymore. I was fired on Christmas day from my first real job. I was crushed. I resolved never to be fired from any job again. I was a little relieved too. I would have a few months to enjoy my unemployment before turning 16 and qualifying for a fast food gig.

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