Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Random Drunk Story #4 "Beer Cart Girls Kick Ass"

My last two years of college I was privileged enough to work as a “Beverage Cart Girl” at the local eighteen hole golf course. And let me tell you, it was the best job I’ve ever had. Ever. I got to drive around on the course all day and serve beer. What more could anyone ask for in a job? Besides free golf, which was also another perk of the job. I was able to golf whenever I wanted and there were many a day where 36 holes was the norm.

To give you a little background, while we were working we would engage in some run of the mill Tom Foolery like the famous “which beer car girl can throw the other beer cart girl off of the beer cart first.” This game worthy of Olympic consideration involved making sharp turns to try and throw the passenger from the speeding cart. Whoever stayed on longer won. We also had this idea that manically festered in the back of our heads of how much speed and clearance we would need to jump the sand trap. Yes, you read that right, jump the sand trap. Almost every sand trap out there has a lip to make it extra difficult for the average golfer to get their ball out of “The Beach,” and we always wondered what it would take to jump the beer cart over a sand trap.

Which brings me to Random Drunk Story #4. It was a nice evening and a couple of friends of mine from the golf course decided to play a quick nine before it got dark. So after the first hole the beer cart girl on duty came by and gave us a round, which turned into another, and another, and by the end of our 9 holes we were all well on our way to wasted. It was getting dark, and as we approached the clubhouse there sat the beer cart waiting to be put back into the shed, and needless to say still full of beer, as it had not been emptied yet. That beer cart was like candy to a baby, it was like an open ATM to a bank thief and I still swear to this day, it was calling my name. So I looked at my coworker, she looked at me, and we knew exactly what each other was thinking. I grabbed a tee from my bag and we headed straight towards the cart. The tee, of course was for the governor, as every good beer cart girl knows that a simple golf tee to the governor under the seat makes a cart go about 20mph faster. So, we were off like a flash and headed straight to that sand trap.

Of course we didn’t think about the fact that we were driving a cart full of beer. We just planned on doing something great. I pictured it as I drove towards that trap, the praise, the distinction. My picture on the clubhouse wall, forever engraved with my name and the fact that I was ingenious enough to take a beer cart and get enough air to clear a sand trap. Unfortunately, that’s not exactly how it went down.

We got up the speed, didn’t even flinch, and when we hit the edge of that trap the beer cart did a nose dive worthy of flipper himself. It was all about 2 seconds of “Wee ugh…” There was no air, there was no clearance and there was certainly no “praise and distinction.” In fact, it took an observing grounds man a good ten minutes to pick himself up off the ground from laughing so damn hard to make his way over to us to tow us out. Yup, we had to be towed out.

Surprisingly we were fine. However, I can’t say the same for the beer cart. The next day while my coworker was working it caught on fire and thus forever named “The Smoldering Beer Cart.” They ended up getting a new one and fixed it somehow so the governor could not be tampered with. In other words, they “Jen proofed it,” or so they said. And as for my defense, they were planning to purchase a new beer cart anyway because the one in which I totaled was on its way out.

Looking back I can’t believe I wasn’t fired. Intentionally burying a beer cart in a sand trap while drinking is definite cause for termination…right? Apparently not, and as from my understanding the golf pro was watching this entire train wreck from the clubhouse with his binoculars. I was later told that he just shook his head, set his binoculars down and said “Damn Beer Cart Girls.”


Charlie Mc said...

That was one of the best blog stories I have ever read!!!!! A classic indeed!!!!!!!!!!!!! When are you playing golf again, I am coming along for the ride.....hahaha

Rob Lowe said...

You guys sound like bo and luke duke, except you're in a golf cart and much hotter. I totally have the visual of you in Daisy Dukes. Awesome.

By the way, have you seen this site? Or, perhaps are you on it?

Jenni said...

I think that my stint as beer cart girl greatly precedes the creation of www.badgolfer.com! Plus I resent its title. Bad golfer! I made a good amount of money acting like I wold be a bad golfer and it usually went something like this; I would pull up in my beer cart and approach a group of guys. Flirting was an absolute must. I would take their order and start up a conversation on golf somehow. Like, point to a driver in someones bag and be like "What does that club do?" And they would laugh and I would act all dumb and innocent. They would say, "Well, that's a driver." And I'd say "I bet I could hit that club." And then more laughter would ensue because obviously the driver is the most difficult club in the bag. Then I would pull out the research that I had done earlier where I picked out a guy from the group who I know I could out drive and I would say "I bet I could hit the ball farther than that guy", and point to the "chosen one." Then the money would start coming out, more than likely from the guy I picked, mostly because it's a pride thing.
While the money was being collected I'd ask questions like "is this how you hold the club while holding some god-awful grip, and watch as more money was laid out by the wagerers.
I'd make the guy go first. See how far he hit it and where and usually they would buckle under pressure. However, I only had one "dick out" the whole time I did this. Then I would walk up to the tee, set my stance and wham...nail that ball right out into the fairway. It was beautiful seeing the expressions on their faces...priceless.