Can you imagine working as a golf caddie and being demoted? Oh, the humiliation! I mean, it’s carrying a bag, for Pete’s sake. How hard could it be?
Well, this isn’t a story of humiliation. It’s a story of injustice.
When I was 13, my best friend talked me into being a caddie. She liked to try all kinds of things and I did, too…within reason. Hauling a heavy bag for a long time in the hot sun did not fit into that parameter. However, she was good at talking me into things.
Be honest…does this look fun?
We went to the country club (our area was not swanky, btw, but there must have been enough fancy people around to warrant one) and became caddies. We found out during the training that there were two kinds of caddies: a regular caddie and a forecaddie. The forecaddies had the even easier job of walking ahead and letting the golfers know where their balls went.
One fine day I was chosen to act as a forecaddie for a group of golfers. I strolled on ahead and waited for them to take their shots. One by one, I watched the balls fly into the air, against the backdrop of a bright, pale blue sky. And one by one, I lost them. No idea where any of them went. Couldn’t see them in the least.
And…lost it.
Needless to say, it was a long, humiliating round of golf for me and a frustrating one for them. When I got back to the club house, I immediately went to my boss and told him that I was not cut out to forecaddie. I just didn’t have the eyes for it. As I have discussed in other posts, I have heavily corrected vision. Although my glasses look somewhat normal, that’s an illusion.
The injustice came a week or two later when I was, once again, chosen to be a forecaddie. I stopped by the podium, where the boss stood pointing at people and telling them what group they were going out with, and reminded him about my vision/inability to do the job. He sent me out anyway. I’m sure you can guess what happened. Disaster number two. Only this time when I got back, I was told I had to go back to training.
Ever hear of these, sir?
I had told him–twice–that I couldn’t do that job. And what was more training going to do? Fix my eyesight? So, I left and never went back. Never looked back, either.
In hindsight, I wonder if that’s exactly what they wanted. My guess is that not a lot of the golfers wanted girls to carry their bags and maybe I gave them the perfect opportunity to make me want to leave. Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Either way, screw that job. I ended up getting a job in a library a few years later. It was air conditioned and full of books! And I could see every single thing in the whole place.
