Our tee-time trouble

We had a day off in Lahinch, County Clare, and innocently thought it would be easy-peasy to pass the time whacking a few balls around a golf course.

Foolishly, we didn’t opt for the beginner’s course that was within walking distance.

Oh no.

That would be too easy.

Instead we asked the locals for the best course on the land.

The place that got highly-recommended was a half hour drive away.

So into the car we hopped, baking in the unusually scalding spring heat all the way there. We pulled up right outside the head office, with my wing mirror hanging off by a piece of duct tape, crudely applied by myself and Matt moments prior, after getting clipped by a stranger the day before in Doolin (this is a side story that deserves its own page, involving a lady from Phoenix called Sara Rainwater, who I still haven’t met, but it feels like we are going through a divorce).

Anyway, back to the story…

We pulled up to the golf course in my duct-taped vehicle and stumbled out of the car and into the office.

Immediately, the lady there scowled down her nose at us like vermin.

The vibe was off from the get go.

We looked around.

The people there spoke with such a thick accent that it sounded like a language from another planet.

It felt like a scene from Star Wars.

When the owner finally decided we were granted permission to speak, it was like talking to an alligator.

She was messing with our joo-joo and she knew it.

All we wanted to do was hit a few balls, but she was acting like we asked to slaughter her cat.

She wasn’t getting rid of us with her snotty snobbery.

We were determined to hit a few golf balls into a few holes.

…One of them being her mouth.

I wanted to tee off from her face, but didn’t say anything.

I kept my mouth shut.

She could read the vibe that we would be a persistent thorn in her side and we weren’t giving up any time soon.

She, then, decided to disappear into a closet for about a year-and-a-half.

But we stood our ground and waited.

When she finally emerged and seen that we hadn’t left yet, she realised she was not getting rid of us.

So, she had only one option left: She went to the till and rang up a bill of close to half a grand for us to play on the course.

I hated that woman.

She looked like a lizard.

But a victorious lizard.

She had won.

And she knew it.

We obviously declined her asking price and got back into our taped up car and drove off in the punishing heat, defeated.

We spent the next hour playing crazy golf at a theme park; the only place that would take us, bitterly eating melting ice cream, and pretending that we hadn’t just encountered an evil gecko of the golf world.