The driving range
My mom gave me some money to go to the driving range because she pities me. I went this afternoon. It was nice out, etc. As I was driving there I saw an extremely elderly couple walking on the sidewalk in a quiet residential area. I thought about how this is probably as much fun as they can have. I don’t mean to disparage them, but they were moving really slow so it looked like walking is pretty close to their physical limit. I think I am unintentionally making what I saw sound shitty; those people are actually really lucky. Their lives are not only blessed with longevity, but companionship—also, the longevity of their companion—and a remarkably enduring love for each other.
I’m not just fabricating a back-story for a couple of strangers whom I saw for all of five seconds. They walked with elbows intertwined and at the corner the woman took a piece of cantaloupe out of a plastic container and fed it directly into the man’s mouth. It was all very touching.
Of course, with such a small sample of this couple’s life, I am liable to be completely wrong about them, and perhaps she poisoned the cantaloupe and took his wallet. Perhaps she memorized my license plate number, and perhaps she is presently plotting my demise for I am what the criminally minded like to call a loose end…
[Fun(?) fact: apparently tupperware/touperware is not an actual word, Tupperware is just a brand that has so thoroughly dominated the market that it has become synonymous with its product, like Kleenex or Band-Aid.]
Anyway, there are two things you need to know about me: I bought 165 balls for $14.00 at the driving range, and I have no idea which details readers care about. I had not been to the driving range for a year or so, and I was clearly rusty. I knew beforehand that I was going to suck, that I am never going to be good at golf, that the only reason I went to the driving range was to occupy myself for a few hours and maybe have fun. But it is no fun to suck. So I did my best to remember all of the mechanical aspects to a successful golf swing that I learned from the First Tee in middle school. You probably didn’t know that I received golf instruction as a youngster, friends. See what treasures you find here? I improved a little, but there are some problems I doubt I will ever correct. I thought it might just be more fun to play a round at this cheap shitty course nearby, especially since I can still rock the 3-wood like this panda rocks this rocking horse.
But that all changed with one swing. There I was, minding my business, hitting my 3-wood 200 yards with ease and a smug look on my face, even working on a nifty little power fade, when suddenly the club head broke off and flew 40 yards onto the range. It was the second goddamn time a club from this set broke—the 5-wood broke a few years ago. I didn’t really care then because it wasn’t my best and favorite club. My baby! Dunlop’s shitty craftsmanship angers me, and the fact that I might never get my 3-wood back may drive me crazy.
Bring it on, old lady. I’m ready for you.