range of fire

so i work at this driving range. to make matters worse, i commute there. it's an hour and change away from my apartment, and there's no public transportation that goes to driving ranges, so i have to drive the whole way. also, i get paid $7.50/hr. why do i do this, you ask: for the motherfucking memories.

like this one: a kid comes in and asks how much for a soda. we sell them for $2.50, which is by no means a popular move, and i think may actually be a policy specifically designed to make my life even more miserable than it already is. so i tell the kid how much, and he says 'i'll give you two dollars.' i suppress my urge to say 'what is this a goddamn barter economy? are we in fucking istanbul?' and instead tell him 'sorry,' at which point he shoots me the ambiguous one-liner, 'you're a good businessman.' as he leaves, the person i'm ringing up says, 'do you know that guy?' i say 'no, i think he was just a douche.'

or this one: a dude in a spandex-tight blue shirt named sergio comes in with his girlfriend and wants to use a driver. we have a selection of sweet drivers for people to demo, and we charge $5 for it. again, this is a policy that i have to explain to, and in turn be frowned at by, total nutsacks all the time. while i'm ringing someone else up, sergio tries in vain to pull a club out of a car where it's locked and says 'you charge for the drivers? how can you call yourself a driving range? i mean, doesn't that defeat the whole purpose?' i pretend not to hear him, but he keeps looking at me, so i say 'no, i mean, you can use other clubs,' and again point to the irons we let people use for free. instead of letting it go, he says once more 'i just don't see how you can call yourself a driving range, i mean, to pay, for the drivers?' at this poing i'm thinking 'go away sergio. just go away.' instead i say 'back when i named the place i didn't really think about that.' he decides he wants to rent one so i go over to where he's standing, hand still on the clubhead, and unlock one for him. as i'm doing it, he says to his girlfriend, 'i like montreal so much better, they let you use the clubs for free there.' if only sergio had been in montreal that day.

or this one: a guy comes in and says 'where's the offtrack betting place?'
i say, 'i have no idea.'
'you know, you get off the highway, there's a sign, "OTB" and then...'
i have never seen this sign before in my life. i tell him that.
he says 'i gotta place some bets' and leaves.

or this one: a french woman calls me on the phone asking for directions. not only is she overtly french, putting an unnecessary 'uh' on the end of all her words (case in point: 'can you tell mee-uh how to get to the golf-uh range-uh?' to which i respond '...yeah'), she also has the common personality disorder of not listening to people when they talk. she tells me she's in the parking lot of the golf course adjacent to the range. i give her directions, which consist of three turns. i have to do this three times, because each time she tells me 'eet eesn't wuuurkeeng.' i realize, after the second session of directions-giving, that she is, in fact, at a different golf course, one with a vaguely similar name, but it takes a while to convince her of this. And stress vaguely: there are two words in the name of the course where i work and only one in the name of the one where she is confusedly making donuts, or perhaps croissants, in the parking lot, talking on her cell phone.
she eventually arrives, and proceeds to clusterfuck the whole operation by making me listen to her half-french, half-english, i-just-got-off-the-boat-from-the-goddamn-riviera dialect while there's a huge line of people just trying to hit some golf balls like decent god-fearing, god-loathing and god-ambivalent americans, scratching their heads and their nutsacks while they check out this once-hot middle-aged french woman's ass (she's wearing tights). oh yeah, and she doesn't pay any attention at all when i answer her qeustions, so she repeats the same ones with the same extra 'uh's, all for an unnecessary amount of time. she is trying to sign up her french kids for golf lessons. i'm thinking 'yeah, good idea french lady, this is going to turn out great. your kids don't speak english, and they are going to SUCK.'
she gets them signed up just in time, right before the lesson is about to start. the kids go outside, and she wants me to help her find a left-handed junior club for her son who is not only french but left-handed. it goes something like this:
'ummm, weeel you help meee find-uh the right club-uh?'
'yes, one second, let me ring these gentlemen up first, seeing as they are merely trying to purchase golf balls and all speak american.'
'okay-uh, because i can't find-uh...' she trails off while puttering around in the bin of loaner clubs.
i ring up one guy, and there's still about four in line when she asks me again for help.
'just one second, ma'am,' i say.
'the class is starting.' she throws her hands in the air and leaves in a huff.
when i go over to the rental clubs, the first one i see is a left-handed junior club, perfectly-sized for this tiny french kid. i take it out to her and she is utterly mystified by my observational acumen and club-finding ability. 'how-uh deed you know-uh? eet eesn't wreeten anywhere.'
i calmly explain to her that left-and right-handed clubs physically face different ways when you look at them.

or this one: a guy who comes in frequently, but, like the aforementioned hanger-on, never purchases anything, and who draws his victims into confusing conversations about people he once knew, dropping names as if they're supposed to mean something and assuming his victims know what in god's name he's talking about, and who always makes some odd comparison between whatever topic he's inflicted and the game of golf, then laughs hysterically to himself as he waves goodbye, tries to get me to sell insurance for his friend from his days in the army.

or this one: i see an old man outside while i'm walking up and down the range, picking up empty buckets. he is wearing an old man hat. he stops me to tell me how the place has gone totally to shit. he rattles off several names of people who used to work there, people i've never heard of in my life, and i give him sort of a blank but affable look throughout, and then say 'yeah, i don't know, i just started here recently.' he proceeds to tell me that, of the fifteen pros that used to work there, all have left since the 'new' management has come in, and concludes by contrasting my place of employment with a nearby golf course which is, according to him, '300% better than when the fuckin county used to run it). then he points to the range building and says 'i mean, i'm italian too, but those fuckin dagos don't know what they fuck they're doing,' to which i say, 'i see.' i then proceed to look around, and fail to notice any golf clubs near this guy. he isn't standing by one of the asto-turf mats, and i don't recall selling him a bucket of balls, so i say, when he lets me get a word in, 'so did you just come by to check the place out?' he doesn't seem to understand, says no, and starts telling me about some clubs he has at home. when i get the chance to speak again, i say, 'uh-huh. so did you come by just to see what's going on?' and he says 'no i don't know what the fuck's going on here.' to which i reply, 'you and me both.'
the next time i see him, he comes in asking if anyone has inquired about some lost clubs he found on the range, and says 'you know, i didn't want to give them to you guys, cause i don't know if you guys would sell them or what, you know, i don't need em, i got about a hundred clubs at home, but you know, i don't want to just leave em here.' i say, 'i don't think we'd sell them, i mean, people usuallly just put them in the lost and found, that way whoever lost them can find them.' predictably, he remains resistant to my logic. i finally say, 'that's what the lost and found is: people lose clubs, then they get found, and that's where they go.'

these anecdotes may have seemed foreigner-heavy, but let me assure you: it's not just the foreigners. i have a theory: people will act as stupid as you let them. unfortunately for me, i am paid to let them act however they damned well please, which is pretty fuckin stupid.

and it burns, burns, burns,
the range of fire

dr. koaladick