I approached a golf course

Nov 14 2001
I approached a golf course and there was a man standing with lottery ticket in his cap, eating a sloppy hot dog and losing his mustard. He was standing up by the driving range smoking one of those cigarettes that smells like spicy cigars, and trying to hold the hotdog in the same hand so that at least one hand would be free to keep his raggedy bag of clubs leaning against his hip. The man was a W.C. Fields copycat, probably paid by the establishment to entertain the guests as they filed out of the clubhouse to get into their carts and begin their journey down to the first hole. He had on a beige suit, saddle oxfords and a men's summer dress hat with a stars and stripes trimming with that ridiculous lottery ticket stuffed partly underneath. There a caddy as a sidekick, too, but he was laying in the grass chewing on a ballpoint pin and throwing golf balls into the shrubbery. His dress was a bit more modest, being only loose fitting brown pants and a Hawaiian print short sleeve shirt with a tremendous white flower stretched across his chest, but no shoes. I say the fellow was a W.C. Fields copycat only because of the way he stood back on his heels underutilizing his toes; he could have been a complete original but it seems so unlikely in our time. He finished up his hotdog, threw the paper and half-smoked cigarette onto the grass and whistled loudly for his caddy who was only 5 feet away. The caddy sprung from his reclined position and grabbed two broken clubs from the golf bag and hurled them out onto the driving range. Without hesitation, he ran around the corner and returned with a tandem bicycle. Hoisting the golf bag, which had since fallen on the ground, onto his shoulder, the caddy took his place on the front seat and waited as W.C. adjusted his pants and climbed into position on the back. With a few wobbles the duo was off, without a word, towards the 18th hole. After that, I just went home. I don't play golf anyway; the only time I've ever been golfing I hit a house.