So, I am on my guys golfing weekend down on the Jersey shore and we finish up our Saturday round. As usual, the course got the best of me and it was indeed Miller time. Time to get cleaned up, grab a bite, quick drink, and head to where the upper crust hangs out in the southern part of the garden state . . . Atlantic City of course!
I go over to sink to comb my hair after getting out of the shower and locker room attendant Gary makes his presence known to me. I am not above small talk in a golf locker room . . .greens were fast, should have laid up on 17 . . . that kind of stuff. But from the sounds of it, Gary is in search of a ghost writer for his biography. And I am caught in a surprise audition. Okay, I’ll go with it. And while I was pining for another beer before heading out, I listened to stories about his teenage baseball aspirations (he is currently 65 years young) and his multiple girlfriends (is that legal in New Jersey?) sprinkled in with F-bombs every 5th word . . .you know . . . for effect. And when I made the mistake of telling him where I lived, he of course had a connection in that his mechanic lived about 10 miles away. But wait . . . we were 90 miles from home and apparently his mechanic. Doesn’t everyone drive an hour and a half to get their 87 Monte Carlo fixed? Of course they do. As I tried to wrap up our one sided conversation I inserted my request to go obtain another beverage, to which Gary quipped, “That is the only way you will feel good inside . . . is with a drink”. Indeed Gary, indeed. Now, on to Atlantic City to feel even better about myself than I did before!
