To Tee Or Not To Tee, That Is The Question

My job has assigned me to a task in upstate NY for the last year. One week of every month, I head across New England, farther and farther away from the ocean, through the mountains to upstate NY. There was a time I looked forward to that week away from my usual duty station but recently, I have found myself questioning why NY can't find anyone who wants to get paid for being nice to people.

Anyway, last year, Alexander got me interested in playing golf. He bought me a nice beginner set of clubs and on the weekends, we would go to various driving ranges around our houses. I always considered golf to be a fairly boring sport of which I would be no good (hello, I was a soccer player most of my life - I'm like a bull in a china shop). Alexander was smart though as he stroked my ego every time we would go to the driving range..."wow, I know people who took years of lessons before they could hit that hard....you have a natural grip....awesome job, babe...". Of course I believed all of this to be true and quickly, the driving range became fun - so much fun that on occasion, after work, I would go on my own. What does this have to do with upstate NY, you ask?

Well, I decided that I would go to a driving range out there. This way I could get some fresh air and practice a bit after work. I went online and found a place close to my hotel. During a heat wave, I trek off to the driving range. It was called a "public country club" whatever that means. You would have thought, as I drove down the beautifully landscaped, mile long driveway, that I would have known this wasn't my typical mini golf/batting cages/driving range/ice cream/arcade places that I had been going to. But no, not me...I carried on. Heck, I even decided to get a medium basket of balls.

I followed the path to the driving range and what did I see....grass. No turf with a little rubber stand to put my ball on. Just grass. And no partitions between golfers...just grass between us. what else did I see...people staring at me like I was a stray cat off the road. Perhaps they were looking at me that way because the women wore golf skirts and little sweater vests, the men wore khakis with festive polo shirts. Everyone had clubs neatly lined up in their golf bags and had leather shoes with little spikes on the bottom. Oh, did I fail to mention my "look"?

I wore a pair of green Nike running shorts (circa 1991 gym class - at the time, I was just happy that they still fit this many years later), gym sneakers, my favorite LSU grey and navy faded t-shirt with a rip under the arm and a giant ink stain on the upper left shoulder. My hair was swirling around my head (why is it that I buy a hundred hair elastics but can never find one when I really need it?!?!), I had giant fashion (not sporty) sunglasses on, a blackberry in one hand, and in the other, 2 clubs with the medium basket of balls swinging on the end. That's right, I didn't even have my full bag of clubs - took up too much trunk space.

I decided to stay calm and just hit the balls. I find a place in line...step up...and see...grass! Where is the little rubber thingy to put my ball on like I have always used at the driving ranges at home?!?!!? Stay calm. I put the ball on the neatly manicured, perfectly green grass and swing. The ball takes off....with a chunk of grass. More stares. I recover the little chunk of grass and mound it up and put the next ball on it - like a makeshift tee. That ball takes off - along with the little patch of grass - it was like a green toupee flying through the air. That medium bucket of balls is growing but I can't retreat. What do I do??! Duh, I send a nasty text to Alexander and explain my circumstances and blame him for not preparing me for such a place. Naturally, this is somehow his fault, right? His response?

Wow, that's a much nicer place than I've ever brought you to. What you need are tees - no duh - and you mean you had an excuse to shop and buy a cute golf outfit and you didn't, I'm shocked - LOL.

I would have responded but now people were glaring at me. Texting, in addition to my outfit and lack of golfing knowledge, was apparently starting to really bug people. Just when I considered running out of there, the guy next to me offers me some tees which I gladly accept. Hitting the ball (sans grass) gets much easier after that. Of course, towards the end of the basket of balls (why, oh, why did I have to get the medium basket?) I have broken all the tees the nice guy has given me so I dig around my dirt/grass area for some "usable" broken ones and finish the basket. Phew, my humiliation has ended and I can leave.

As I gather my mish mash of crap, the guy who gave me the tees is cleaning the dirt from his clubs and neatly putting them back. He takes pity on me and offers to buy me a beer in the clubhouse overlooking the driving range. As we sit on the deck looking at all the perfect little golfers, they bring me a beer and a glass to pour it in. I decline the glass. Let's be honest, the day has proven that I'm a drink-it-from-the-bottle kind of girl.