Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Golf is Satan's Game

I realize it may be boring to some passersby because my blog leans heavily on motorcycling and its inherent adventures. So I was going back over some older posts and suddenly, stories from my past began to bubble up to the surface.

This one's a doozy...but probably only hilarious to me. Which is fine. My purpose in starting a blog was 1) to stop annoying the CV Sportbike Club forum-goers with my brain droppings and 2) to keep a sort of online record of my lifetime exploits, so that when I'm old and frequently crap myself, I can go back over all these posts and read about someone who didn't want to change the world, make a difference or do anything other than say, "I lived a good life." That said, on to the anecdote...except that, in the strictest sense, nothing I write about is short.

Back when I lived in Illinois, the company I worked at for 14 years had a golf league from April to September. I can't remember now why I got involved in the league. I suppose it was like anything else in my life that suddenly interested me...someone I liked, knew, or had a crush on inadvertently sucked me in. I enlisted the aid of a co-worker or two who knew how to whack a ball and before I knew it, I had a $100 set of lefty clubs and was hitting the driving range. A lot. Turns out if something doesn't immediately frustrate the crap out of me, I actually apply myself. Not that I ever got really good at golf...I think my lowest score was a 54 or 53 on 9 holes. But when that happened, it was right around when the U.S. Women's Soccer team won that big thing...and yes, in imitation of Brandi Chastain, I whipped my shirt off and ran around the green, in celebration, wearing...whatever the hell I was wearing under my shirt.

The usual Wednesday ritual involved 9 holes of golf, followed by a lovely evening in the company of good friends and co-workers, a friendly and hilarious bar staff and a pleasant atmosphere conducive to analyzing the game. Ach, we'd drink pitchers of beer and smoked cigars till we closed the place. Nearly every Wednesday. If the local authorities had ever caught on, they'd only have to work on Wednesday nights to fill their ticket/arrest quota for the month.

One of the more tame evenings, I had remained in the clubhouse along with a fellow coworker from my department, whom I affectionately referred to as "Junior." The little smart ass. To be fair...and on a tangent, Junior was a lot of fun. He brought out the prankster in me. Which I didn't know I had.

Prior to his departure on his first business trip with our boss, I informed him that, since he was leaving his vehicle in the parking lot over the next few days, he should give me the keys to his car in case it had to be moved. I was able to back that up with a true story, whereby I left my car in the parking lot one weekend...and was contacted on a Saturday that a local paving company was repaving the lot with a fresh layer of sealer. I was too late, and the dopes actually schmeared the goo directly around my car.

Junior gave me his keys and the next day, I called him to see how his trip was progressing. As I was sitting in his car. In line at a local car wash. You see, it was January or February and his car, a way fun RSX, was normally blue, but at this point was covered in an even layer of road salt. So I called him...never let on that I was in his car...or had made off with it, for that matter. I washed it, promptly returned it to the same parking space at work, then changed all his preset radio stations to Mexican stations. He'd probably claim to this day, that his car was clean when he left. Because all he was really upset about was the radio presets. He didn't believe that I actually took the car.

Another time, while he was on another business trip I cleaned his entire cubicle out (he's an engineer, ergo, a slob. He will, however, tell you that he has a "system."), and put up "This Space for Rent" signs. Take a look.

Great fun. For me.

Anyway, now that you have a little backstory into my relationship with Junior, it may help to understand where this next story comes from.

End of golf night. Junior and I are walking...er stumbling...uh yeah, walking back to our respective cars and I pull my trusty vehicle up to his driver side window to have a last-minute conversation with him. Honestly, I'm laughing right now as I type this. There was a lab tech who worked at the company who was, for lack of a better term, odd. And, looking back, I think, possibly smitten with me. Now, I will be the first to admit that my reaction to somebody being interested in me when I'm not interested in them, well, it turns into a Benny Hill skit. Because I'm a chicken-shit douchebag. At least I was. I think now I might just be chicken-shit.

Junior and I...chatting, driver side to driver side. Odd pulls up in his car on the other side of Junior, as I beg Junior, "Don't you leave me." Odd says to Junior, "I want to ask Kuj something." Me begging..."don't you dare....Junior...Junior!" As Junior slams on the gas pedal and flies away. To which I then slam on the gas pedal and fly away. Junior is gone. I mean gone. Like a fart on Wall Street...in the wind (props, Momma). Odd is hot on my trail as I haul ass out of the parking lot. I am already on my cell phone, calling Junior and coloring the air blue at him for leaving me. Then I inform him that Odd is following me...I'm laughing really hard right now relaying this story to you, you can imagine how hard I was laughing then. I finally get Odd off my tail about two or three miles down the road. Or he gives up. Whatever.

By now I'm in hysterics, I'm laughing so hard that the tears are rolling down my face, I'm screaming in to the phone and Junior actually had a tone of concern in his voice. He says, "Where are you?" I say, "I'm at such-and-such intersection." So he meets me there, we both get out of the car, and start convulsing. Seriously, I think snot was running out of my nose. The two of us laughed so hard, there was physical aching. After relaying "The Chase" to him, Junior suggests, "Oh, we need to get you a drink." Mind you, it's already midnightish on a Wednesday. We end up at a dive bar near my house and after a couple of beers, I believe I recall saying, "You know, one day we'll look back on this and laugh."

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