Nice Putt

A while back I attended a golf tournament as a ‘rep’ for a company I was working for. I was to meet the other members of my foursome at the course. As I recall, it was about 90 degrees and the smog was at its exceptional best in the San Fernando Valley. A perfect day for golf.

When you are playing vendor golf, and you are the vendor, there are rules and protocol to keep in mind. If you are going to play better than the client, really play better, such great golf that the client feels privileged to have played a round with you. I do not have this concern or the golf game to ever worry about beating anyone. You need to be able to have your client feel he is being helpful with every snippet of advice he or she gives. Listen to the pointers in regards to getting out of the sand, off the tee box, over the hedge and all the way to grandmother’s house. Stare in awe at his shanks, hooks and fades. Use the phrase “You Da Man” over and over again. Oh, and pay for everything, even things you wouldn’t think to pay for.

The oil industry has a yearly event just for this, called NPRA. It is not for the weak of heart, or in the case of vendors, someone with a conscience. Bring the “gold” card. It is considered boot camp for sales people.

So here I am with my Fellow golfers. One Client, and two vendors, a third guy ‘bailed’.
The beer drinking starts early here. I don’t drink when golfing; I probably should considering my skill level. I do make up for this at other times.

By the 3rd hole, our client was into his Second six-pack, the other vendor is still working on his First fifth of JD. I was sucking back bottled water to try to beat the heat.

We suck as golfers. We are literally tearing up the course; and yet, I continue to tell our honored guest silly stuff like, “Man, I thought you had that one.” Of course, it would have required bouncing off the cart path one more time and maybe winging it off the palm tree 100 yards out of bounds… to have gotten the ball somewhere… near the fairway we were playing on. “But, Man, I thought you had that one”.

At some point with that much bad golf and beer, someone is going to say something you just wish they hadn’t.

On the 13th tee box, oddly enough, the now ‘drunk on his assets’ client turns to me and says. “ I like you, Man.” I know this cannot be a good thing.
He then says, “ You know my wife is kinda fat and all, but she has got some huge boobs. You should see them sometime.”

He is the client, he determines, in many ways, the amount of work I get.
He has just painted a mental picture I’m afraid I will never be able to lose.

I look at him solemnly waiting for the right moment to say “You Da Man!”