The beer cart supplied at the golf course is sub-par (although technically, that would mean a birdie... so let's say it was a triple bogey of a machine!) The poor girl had a vast array of mechanical issues, she was just too far gone. The most common problem was its delay in response to the gas pedal. Instead of moving, the cart often screamed due to a loose belt, which you can imagine irritates concentrating golfers to no end. I don't know how many times golfers refused a drink only to have me stick around for a few more seconds with the pedal to the floor leaving them confused and convinced that I was either deaf or vapid. This cart and I had a number of altercations over the past two summers, including my first beer run alone when I was stopped by a helpful ranger (who I called Johnny Apple Seed) who had spotted my blown tire from a fairway away. Beer Cart-1, Kathy-0. As I drove along I didn't notice due to the bumpy cart path conditions. He drove back to the club house to bring me the spare beer cart and in the meantime I stood on the tee of hole 13 for the first time. I had experienced the delight of bent grass beneath my feet before and I was looking forward to my first beer run alone so I could sneak away from the path on a deserted hole and feel the spongy, smooth grass on my bare toes. Lauren, the food and beverage manager, and I later had laughed about my disappearance. Ever since then I think she doubted my beer cart driving skills. (I wish she had been around on the multiple occasions which called for me to reverse through the winding forest along hole 14!) While I waited for Johnny, I pulled broken tees from the grass and tidied up the cigarette butts. Eventually he returned to rescue me and the two of us loaded the stock from the broken cart into the replacement, which was much speedier than our usual one. On some bumps I could be launched a foot off of the seat (and I begun wearing sports bras).
I am not the only one who had trouble with the beer cart's mechanical problems. Some time during my first summer working at the course the parking brakes on the cart had become disabled. Without a block of wood behind one of the wheels and some strategic wheel turning, the cart was known for rolling away. Unfortunately on one tournament day, Renee parked (or believed she had parked) the cart outside the kitchen to reload it. One member, Mr. L.R., and one of our grounds crew members, Keith, discovered this problem first hand when their cars had been smashed into on two separate occasions from the runaway. On one of my brakeless cart runs, I stopped to serve a guest some Gatorade at the bottom of the hill by the green of hole 9. In order for the cart to stay put, I had the right wheels on the grass beside the fence and the left wheels on the cart path. I finished serving the thirsty golfer and hopped back onto the cart, forgetting that I had turned the wheels full-lock to the right, pointing at the cedar fence that lined the green of hole 9. I pushed the gas pedal and was jolted forward, without enough time to straighten the wheel. (The one time there is no screaming-belt delay into motion!) I had crashed into and over the cedar rail fence and ripped its posts right out of the ground. Beer Cart 2-0, Kathy-0. To my horror, the polite Gatorade drinker witnessed the whole event, but thankfully pretended not to notice. But it wasn't over yet, I still had to reverse over the fence again and return to the cart path. I'm sure at this point I looked as red in the face as a tomato, but there was no time for embarrassment! I needed to flee the scene before anymore witnesses could appear. I reversed over the fence posts and continued my cart run, trying to think of a good lie to tell the ranger when I bumped into him on the course. By hole 6, I stopped the ranger and told him that the fence at hole 9 had been banged up by some reckless cart driver (this wasn't entirely a lie I suppose). He zoomed off to investigate and I was in the clear! When I returned to the club house I was trying to contain my laughter as it must have been quite a show. Tanya from the proshop and my food and beverage colleague Maddy were in the kitchen when I blurted out my confession and we all cracked up. Tanya told me that the ranger was out on the course scouting out a scratched or dented golf cart, but we all agreed to keep my embarrassing accident a secret. I blame it on the brakes! If I could have parked normally, I wouldn't have hit a thing. Lauren's doubts of my driving expertise were illegimate, I swear!
Last summer, on the day of the first tournament of the season, I looked out the window to discover the horrid weather. It was the beginning of May and the rain was being blown horizontally by the freezing wind that shook the trees, and I live in a valley! I could only imagine how windy the golf course would be. Not only were the conditions poor but so was the temperature, I believe it was somewhere in the single digits without windchill. Thankfully I was prepared. My shift began at 2 o'clock and I knew that whoever was on the cart would be dying to have a break as soon as I arrived. I put on my long johns and layered up, anticipating my bones becoming cold and wet. Sure enough, when I arrived I was immediately asked to take over the cart, for which I agreed. Why not? It was an adventure, and after surviving the terrible storm from the summer before I felt invincible! I made my way on the cart to hole 17, where I met Steve, the GM. Looking as miserable as me, he gave me a better pair of mittens to wear for the rest of the cart run than my old softball batting gloves. I served his group hot drinks and continued on my way, at this point, the rain turning into sleet. The poor unreliable beer cart had become tired from her several cart runs already, and I knew that she was having trouble. The first uphill battle wasn't for a few more holes, but I was already worried about it. It was the steepest hill on the course, and even on a clear day, the cart had trouble on it. As I entered the forest by hole 14, I tried my best not to lose any of the speed that I needed to climb the hill. But sure enough, the cart found itself a few inches shy of making it up the hill, screaming from the pain of trying. I tried again after rolling backwards down the hill, but no cigar. Without a radio to call in my trouble, I was left at the bottom of the hill in the forest. Beer Cart -3, Kathy -0 Luckily, a familiar face came to my rescue! Mr. P. was a frequent member of the course and had become one of my favourites over my time working at the course. After being stranded for a few minutes, Mr. P and his fellow golfers pushed the cart up the hill while I sat on the seat steering. They had been to the course often enough to understand the issues our tired, little cart had and it became a laughing matter within minutes. When I returned to the club house, Lauren was not happy. I did finally arrive back a good twenty minutes later than expected, but I ensured her that the cart could not handle another try at the hill. She criticized my driving by claiming that she had no problems with the cart on the run she made without remembering that she had the advantage of making the first beer cart run of the day whereas I was stuck with a cart with its tongue hanging out. In any case, the cart was given a rest and the tournament continued problem free, despite Mother Natures sense of humour, and Lauren and I were able to laugh about it later, without the stress of serving the miserable golfers looming over our heads.
Thanks to Tom, the grounds crew manager, the performance of the beer cart has definitely improved! I'm sure that the beer cart girls will get a better score this summer!
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