(Part 2 of “My Very Very Very First Job”)


How does one get punched behind the ear? Really? Is it possible to completely miss my face and punch me behind the ear?

Matt got in his set position as his sensei  taught him, I put up my dukes like it was 1950, I remember some other person yelling  “GO!”   Matt threw the first punch which landed behind my right ear…. And with that it was over, one of the greatest 2 second fights in recorded history.  After Matt threw the winning punch I remember he had to take a moment to check himself, probably because all of the adrenaline coursing through his karate attuned body said “this asshole is going to get pissed” I was just glad the “FIGHT” was over.  I remember walking around the rest of the day with a large goose egg back there and I’m sure I looked like a new species of homo-sapien. I was thankful Matt didn’t karate chop my nose and break it; I was more relieved that the repercussions of the one punch exchange were that I was now, one of the guys.

Wait!? A punch to the side of the head was all it took to stop the abuse? I would have let them do that month’s before! “Hey guys do you want to punch me behind the ear now and stop calling me Faggot?” The verbal abuse could have easily been stopped months ago had we expedited the side head punch.

The only sad thing about this job is that it made me really hate golf. I mean I still play it today but it’s just not the same. I come from a golfing family, my dad and my uncles were all really jealous that my first real job was at a golf course.

It was soon after the “Punch” That I also began to learn something of office politics. You see Matt wanted to go play hooky. We worked together sometimes and if he was verbally abusing me and putting me outside the circle of trust, then he couldn’t very well go driving around the golf course doing nothing and getting paid for it.

Shortly after the one punch incident there was a girl named Holly or Molly started working the same job as me. All I remember about her was that she had a weak chin and liked this new show that just came out called “7th heaven.” I watched one episode and thought it was stupid. Looking back on her now I’m pretty sure she had a little crush on me only because she would drop hints that I should ask her out. At the time I just thought she liked talking about movies she wanted to go see, but needed someone to go with her as she was single. It didn’t matter because even if I had understood her teenage girl code words, I still wouldn’t have asked her out.  Sometimes it pays to be sensitive after all.

Another co-worker of mine a guy who was round and portly, but whose name escapes me, got a ticket for driving 70 mph in a 65 mph zone. I didn’t feel sorry for him.

I bent the frame of one of the golf carts wheels by smashing the cart into a large boulder at full speed. I did this mind you in front of the manager while he was playing golf. I was really embarrassed about it at the time. He helped me push the damaged cart back to the enclosure, I forget the guy’s name but he looked like Dick Gephardt. I knew what Dick Gephardt looked like because my parents were republicans at the time, and republicans hated Dick Gephardt. This made me hate him.

One of the guys who ran the clubhouse had an alcohol problem and got fired; he always came in to work with bloodshot eyes and smelling of alcohol. I thought that was just the way God made him, didn’t realize he had a problem until someone told me of that. I was very naïve; I had never had alcohol before.

My last memory of this particular job and the golf course was when I went golfing with my dad and brothers; We were all on the green putting when a bunch of teenage girls in a car drove by screaming at me. (It could only have been me as my dad was too old, and my brothers were too young AND I was good-looking) My dad not missing a beat turns to me and says with all seriousness, “they were screaming for you Moses.” That made me feel weird, I shrugged my shoulders…

In summary, teenage boys are awkward.

Respectfully,

Moses.

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About MaximumWage

I don't wear shoes. And I habitually reinvent myself, like the wheel.
This entry was posted in Jobs, Life and the American Way and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to (Part 2 of “My Very Very Very First Job”)

  1. Teenage girl code words. –sigh–
    I am guilty.

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