Burn Pillage Plunder

So my company had sponsored a golf tournament last week. I was strong armed into signing up for it. In typical company fashion I was not informed as to where this particular competition was being held. My city has several Golf Courses. The Co-ordinator text messeged my wife (his good friend) and gave her the details which she passed along to me at the typical and most innappropriate of moments. When I wake up in the morning or be it afternoon I am purely running on insticts. I seek coffee and the interweb and god help anyone who gets in my way. It takes several moments for my waking mind to reboot and resume operation of my meatsack. During this diagnostic my mind is a sieve.

My wife generally takes advantage of these moements to inform me of the most critical informations. So to make a long story even longer I was able to remember the day and roughly the time of my Golf Game. I think its important to mention that I used to frequently golf with my grnadfather but have not participated in the noble sport for a decade or more. I do remember that it is expensive and elitist and there is a dress code enforced. For those of you that dont know what golf is.......basicly its a mock Duel or battle. Two individuals are assigned a slave and a bag of sticks. The twist is rather than killing each other with sticks we try to sinks a ball in the fewest strokes. Simple enough. My long term memory is like a steel trap. My short term is tranquilizer dart and radio collar. The details of the event were foggy but I could clearly remember the rules of the sport.

Short Term Memory

Company Golf Tournament

1. Abderdeen Glen par 3
2. Club House drinks 12:30
3. T-time 1pm

Long Term Memory

Rules of Golf

1. Dress code: starched white Polo shirt pressed trousers and silly english cap.
   
2. Do not laugh and pretend what you are doing is deadly serious.
   
3. Maintain charade.
   
4. Rinse
   
5. repeat.

So at 12:30pm I arrived at Aberdeen Glen for the pre match boasting betting and shit talk. Immediatly my sixth sense was warning me something was wrong. I work in a sawmill. While it is true that most of the employees enjoy golf the company tends to employ the anti thesis of the typical golfer. When I sat down to the patio I observed the silence amongst the patrons. The crew should have lit up that deck. The patrons consisted mainly of retired bussiness persons and were not smoking,spitting, yelling or slapping the beer wenches on the rear. It only took a moment for me to realize that my warriors had not razed this beer house. I blended into my environment perfectly. My cammoflage fooled the elitist club members. I slowly reached into my pocket and not drawing any attention to myself I called my #1 viking to get the details. He informed me the tournament was in fact being held at AlderGroves. That Golf course is on the other side of town and I was late.

I dont know what happened to me. Sometimes when I'm acting and in costume I absorb my character and forget my baseline personality. I had become the Elitist Golfer. I was a noble warrior prince. I did not need to swing a stick to prove myself, I needed to test my might against more worthy foes. I wanted to know what the peasants did for fun. Half way to the right Golf Course I detoured from my path and went dowtown to the Columbus. So I walked into the toughest biker bar in my town wearing a golf outfit and silly english cap. The moment was classic. When I kicked open the door and entered the hive of villainy, the music stopped and the bikers turned to see who had entered their den. The stripper grinding the pole bit her lip at the sight of a white knight. A second later her song resumed and everyone turned back to their foamy beers. I sallied up to the bar and ordered an imported beer from a bottle and specified a clean glass from which to drink it from. My game had started.

The tattooed bartender offered a pathetic resistance by asking me for Identification. I presented him with my drivers license and he complied by providing me with a dusty bottle of Heinekin and a clean glass. I selected a fine table with my back in a corner in case things got ugly. The closest cowboy leaned over and made rude remarks about my precense which I dismissed with diplomacy and tact which not only charmed the motherfucking shit out of the guy he bought me a beer and moved me over to his table and provided me a biker bitch to perch on a knee. So the moral of the story is maybe you make plans and maybe they work out or maybe your dumbass forgot where to go. When that shit happens you gotta re-strategize. Destiny happens after decisions. You want to remember what you did right not what you did wrong. Thats what I did.