Pushin' Them Plugs: Chapter Uno

As promised (well, fine i definitely didn't promise anything so just live with it anyway), i shall now recount my very first day "pushing plugs on the greens" for that striving serious sweaty slave struggle of a job i had over the summer of 2011 (a summer that was so hot and humid and unlike any partier out of high school has possibly ever had). Note to reader: This may turn out to be novel-like (meaning chapters of uselessness) and another perfect (and i mean flawless), supremely, the best way to..waste your ever precious time. Of course, if i really want to make you sad, i would say something like, "Well, you're already dying right now as you read and time passes, so, you could stop now and do something worthwhile like stare at the clock for five minutes, or, just continue."
Well the morning began, 4:45 (if i remember right, unless it was a rare morning where i got up later around..5:18..) just like every other day of the week (except Sunday naturally) where I removed myself from the gloriously old bedframe and clomped down stairs to stir up something in the kitchen. If i remember right (forgive me if i keep saying this but it's "trying" to say the least when trying to remember something that happened in July when one has experienced several x 8 blog-worthy escapades), all i created from the cupboards was a bowl of cereal, hand-pourn and eaten. Classic.
After yanking the refridgirator's doors wide open (being sure NOT to slam them into the corner of the wall that perfectly stands so a careless individual would easily blast the door against the wall leaving a hedious black mark on the white fridge) and searching for my prepared lunch (gathered the night before in the second to biggest tup-a-ware my family owns which held an amazing peanut sauce stir fry dish that my father NAILS), i stealthily closed the doors (blatant lie as everyone knows who has a fridge with that impossible rubber suction lining that has to make that tell-tale "sshhht!!!!" sound no matter how much you RULE in the kitchen and sneaking treats when it's not Treat Day!!!1) and proceeded to hurdle up the stairs, silently, and brush the teeth (all four) vigorously.
Granola bar, nuts, amazing rice and stir fry that was fit for a king, i believed i was set. Tearing out of the garage (with definitely not half as much as speed as that curazy fiend of a Pops i have) i drove to work. On arrival i learned how that it was going to be pretty normal (except of course for the fact that...i had no idea what the day had to share so willingly with me) for i had to do the SandPro. So you don't have to go look up a defition or Heaven forbid actually read and waste more time on this bleak blog, basically it's a machine that smoothes the sand in the bunkers and makes it look good for the grouchy old people; they can then madly stomp and sink to attempt at rescuing their ball. i Don't recall anything about this particular morning of SandPro that is worth mentioning, so just, thank your stars (however many you have, personally i'm trying to find my first one) and read about what happened next.
After washing the SandPro (with a hose that was powerful enough to wash down the USS Arizona ship and also send that hulking terrible boyfriend to the moon with one spurt of water), i plodded to the break room to get one of my snacks (mixed nuts?) and look on the white board for my second job for the day. It revealed these haunting words, "PLAYER'S CLUB" i Had no idea what it meant, naturally, but assumed that i was going to work there for the rest of the day (easily 4.5+ hours). i Went to see one of my supervisors about it and did not hear too much detail. They told me i was going to be "pushing plugs" over at the Player's Club (another golf course that was on the same land as the one i worked at) and working with a leveler.
Ah, there i was. About to transfer for the day to another course to help with a job that i knew nothing about. Classic. (No really, in all honesty this actually was classic as every stinking job i managed to grasp i knew nothing about. Yes.) After hearing briefly about what i was going to do, my supervisors were standing around taking a little break and sniggering about something. i Quickly figured out, it was indeed this job they were talking about and how i was going to help them out.
"Hahah, oh yeah, you might like that.." One said with a gleam and mysterious smile.

Swoop Attack Ops.

i Must begin with an apology. That last blog was so boring, after posting it and skimming it for errors i gave up after the first sentence. If you haven't read it, let me save you from certain death. Reading that one won't be necessary. Perhaps i can tell about "pushing plugs" on the greens one day and it will be a tad more entertaining as opposed to that pile of nonsensical garbage.

Onto much more dreadful Tales of Woe.

The other early evening we (two sisters of mine and myself) were enjoying ourselves at the beach. We had just returned from a Food Lion and we bore such bounty and booty, i felt invincible and couldn't wait for a good time with sandy towels and surprise crunches in the mouth.

i Began by emptying the few, small grocery bags (at least 5) and neatly placing the items onto the already sandy towels. There was excitement in the air to say the least. i Reached for the footlong, store bought, ham and turkey sub which was tightly and securely wrapped in plastic only to discover in dismay it wasn't cut. My intelligent sister had stole some plastic-ware packets however, and promptly ripped and "sliced" the sandwich in half. i Picked up some mustard and tabasco packets (yes, more packets holding useful tools) and proceeded to drizzle the sub.

It was perfect. i Was starving. The approximate 6 in. sub in my hands with wonderful flavorful sauces evenly distributed about. i Took a bite. i Took another chunk out of the sandwich. My sister poured some Bolthouse Farms (Passion Fruit and Guava infused) into some coffee cups and it was beautiful. The sandwich was almost a fourth done when i saw a few seagulls out of the corner of my eye, hovering and flapping in the wind. i Should have known, the plan was in motion already. i Didn't stand a chance.

As i reached for my cup with my left hand and held the sub with my right, i enjoyed that last fatal slurp of my juice with gusto. But it was too late.

i Heard a bone-chilling screech and flurry of wings and feather near my left ear. i Threw my eyes off the bottom of the cup and cast them upon my sandwich only to see a blur of white and feel an odd sensation scraping across my right thumb.

Talons. Large ones. They were the odd sensation i was feeling, but that was nothing compared to the thoughts of dread and despair that was welling up fast inside me. i Knew what was happening. i Knew what was about to happen.

Images of little tykes and portions of food that are obviously too big, and some mean creature rips it out of their grasp, flashed through my mind and i knew i fit into that category. i Watched in horror as my sandwich was carried just a few hundred feet before it fell and these vicious gulls made short work of it.

i Didn't know whether to scream, cry, shout obscenities, yell expletives, or get up and chase them foolishly. My sister took care of it for me by deciding to scream and accomplish the latter. It caused a weak smile, but i knew i was robbed.

i Had been robbed senselessly. There was nothing i could do and that just added to my hopeless situation.

i Kept looking back at those wretched seagulls who had devoured some po' boy's meal, and tried to shoot as many icy daggers with my eyes as possible. To no avail. They stared back and out to see, waiting and hoping for something else. This is what i couldn't stand. They had taken my sandwich but still, some hovered near by waiting to fly and swoop down in one finale fatality.

We watched what we were holding from then on. We ate in fear and always kept an eye to the sky.

i Was sure there were congratulations and grateful thank-yous passed around to that seagull who pulled that sneaky, hideous fast one. To that cursed bird, it must be weary in the future. i Have asked for fire from Heaven, or a chance to give it a serious talking to, at least.

It has to know, it's my worst foe.

A Day in the Life of.. Just Another Amigo

This, in many much words, is going to sum up how i acquired a job on a golf course when i know very little about one. Before i begin, there may be golf terms in here that you may not know. Please let me tell you i knew nothing of these terms when i started this job and gradually learned more and more. Please don't expect definitions throughout as i had to figure out a bottom-load of them for myself and you should too; or don't and you will be fine, or better off. Firstly, after graduating early from high school in January, i knew i wanted to get into some local drama. The kind with actors that can pull off fake emotions. Not so much the other which would entail who's dating who or worse, violence or rather obscene activities being accomplished. So, i simply e-mailed the first name on the list of Board of Directors for Bruns. Little Theater. A nice gentleman replied and i found out that BLT would be thrilled to have me in a production but in the meantime, would i mind helping with another production.

As it turned it out, i met a retired Broadway set designer and light technician. This well educated gentleman into his 80's was not quite suited for scrambling up and down ladders. So, i became that. "Scrambling" is a suitable word for it, but hauling myself up and down also fits. Anyway, in the show this family was incredibly nice and invited me to drive with them to Wilmington almost every day to go to rehearsals for another show they were in. i Told them that i was unemployed and they said that they were the head of golf at four courses near my house. i Walked into an interview soon after and suddenly, i wasn't jobless anymore. God bless that family for they not only gave me rides so i could be in a show, but also hooked me up with a job!

So, i started my job on a chilly Saturday morning at 6:30. Still pretty dark in March, and in a new territory, it was a rough day. They allowed me to be off on Sunday, and so my schedule turned out to be 6:30-10:30AM Monday and Wednesday (i was in a Biology class at a community college) and the rest of the week 6:30-2:30 (except on Fridays and Saturdays which were 6:30-10:ish). 30 minute lunch in there somewhere which is always so so GOOD and tasty when it may just be a few sandwiches. i Start my day now at about 4:45 in the morning so i can read my Bible and make breakfast for myself. Pretty serious beginning for the long day ahead, but it's really worth it.

The work that must be done: i Am currently a Sand Master (self-titled, naturally) if i may gush. i Do this job about every day and i've really actually grown a liking to it, although most people think it tiresome and too much work. i Drive the Sand Pro 5040 and it is an interesting job filled with..well, sand. A noisy rusty rake. And all manner of creatures that like paddling around in sand.

The first part about manning this small tractor is that it is slow. Much slower than the big fairway mowers. Slower than any of the old golf carts which start up after holding the gas pedal to the floor for well over 25 seconds some times and have a hysterical delayed reaction that could cause serious injury, death, or the hilarious part which is the sudden unexpected jolt and neck snapping whiplash. Not as slow as Christmas, as the saying goes, but slow enough to make you smile. In other words, you can waste a ton of time on the clock just by driving to the next bunker.

The other part is real simple. i Have to be CAREFUL. When exiting a sand trap, one can easily tear up the turf. i Basically have to gun the engine 98% of the time to get out so that no grass is ruined. It's tough, and leaves a mess most of the time. i Have to stop, get off, rake behind in the bunker, feather out the sand that may have been thrown out of the bunker too by the brush on the back of the Sand Pro, and lastly stamp and place torn grass back in the spot as best as i can.

i Have to fill it up with FREE gas and wash it off at the end of doing that job which normally takes a good 3 and a half hours (sometimes longer if i can help it.:). Then go and park it back in it's rightful place at the "shop" (a big warehouse with all the equipment and room for two mechanics).

So then there's the other parts of the job. Edging cart paths with an edger. Edging bunkers with a weed-eater flipped upside down. Weed-eating. Edging sprinkler heads which is an extensive job because of how many sprinklers may be on a par 5 or 4. Very many much. Lots. And my personal favorite, spraying weeds with Round Up.

For the weed spraying, i use this 3-speed truck that has a 200+ gallon tank and i fill it with 100 gallons of water and 4.5 gallons of Round Up and this herbicide called Scythe. The latter smells strangely strong so it's probably safe to say i shouldn't be swimming in, or swigging it. i Also put a blue dye in it so i don't spray the same plant more than necessary. i Really like the blue look as it makes me think of alien plants that have a greenish-bluish look that makes them look so healthy and..alien. The first time i sprayed however, i used a green dye and this was so ironic because as i killed these plants, i first painted them so they looked more fertile and healthy as ever.

My schedule now, is: clocking in at 6 and working until 2:30 Mon.-Thurs. and 6:30-10:30 on Fri. and Sat. These are such long weeks, but i have been really blessed with this job, despite the wild hours of the morning. So many are without work.

All in all, sure the summer hasn't really been one for me, but i have never learned so much and worked so hard i am positive it's good for me. Perseverance and Patience have been boosted through this job, but i know they could be better as always.

Still striving to be better, but what a Great Truth it is to know that He will get me There.

Phrases on TV

It's Valentine's Day (yes i hate the reminder too if you just sighed a great one), i thought it necessary to share another Tale of Woe. If you are having, or had, a wonderful day celebrating this lovely Saint, then please do not continue to scan this as i might encourage mournful looks and thoughts about me (or evil grins fit for frightening fireflies).

However, this is not a blog about some lonely kid in his late teens. If you continue, you shall see soon enough.

As i've grown up, some pet hates have surfaced like they do with most people if you are normal. The one in this post that i shall rant about can be summed up in two words that have cut me deep more than once. "Empty Words" by Bowery Electric is a strange yet true tune about just that; hence, the reference in the title.

It started i suppose when i moved from the jungle to the Golden State. So many people threw around sweet and far from meaningful words like, "I LOVE you!!!!" This in itself are empty words at their best. Of course they don't mean it, yet they insist on using it with an even bigger smile. How can somebody do this to an unfortunate boy of 17 that is wondering why they say such kind words and only mean, "At this moment in time, you're a cool cat who i laugh at."

Is it my place to judge how they felt inside? Of course not reader, but am i significantly sure of their true feelings? Oh yes. It only got worse when i began to feel something fluttering around inside me when i heard those words from exceptionally beautiful girls.

After i moved again to this pond edge, it did not get any better. As a matter of fact, it went more South than a penguin can swim.

So what to do, go on pretending this has no effect on me? Or, write a blog getting my anguish out there? i Guess i took the latter.

Honesty. So much sense in that word, it's a mystery to me why this world and this place i'm in now is so averse to it. It hits me now though, the world thrives on masks. Society today tells us everyday we should wear our masks, if not for the simple reason of everyone else wearing theirs. Honestly, i am worn out about the whole deal. i Hate wearing a mask, yet i feel i must. Online it is necessary, that is a given. There are too many individuals out that prey on dreadful subjects like slimy lettuce, filthy dank swimming pools, and double barrel fishing. Although in groups at work or school or the local greasy burger stop, it is a tough world when friends cannot trust each other.

Can one be an honest person and still like throwing in words that on the surface sound nice but under, don't mean anything? i Guess it depends on the person. No matter, my plan is to become even more honest than i am. It sickens me how people can give meaningless compliments and such that may make the receiver feel comfortable and perhaps have a bigger head as a result.

So why do people bother with words, if they don't mean them? Ah, now here is a conundrum i wish i knew how to solve. Maybe it is the personality that makes them feel like they need to use hollow words to make themselves feel better. If this is the case, i feel sorry for them. They must find another way to make themselves happy around people, or they may end up friendless, if it goes that far.

Valentine's Day for me has never been that special, but today i got enough inspiration to write this. i'm more than fed up with empty words and this is all i could muster. Too many have been used and i hope they run out soon. Some may feel more profound than you realize.

Did you say that too, or am i mistaken, i felt it happen, but i just know you...

A Hefty Sting

Well reader(s?? The thought has entered my mind more than once, believe it or not, how many of you there are), i thought it appropriate to spin another yarn of uselessness to keep you updated about the latest drastic change to yours truly.

It was a day of trial and error for some. For somebody else, significant apertures in his head. Well, "openings" or "gaps" do not do it justice for you see, these are more like gulches, or an African pothole. But, enough of losing the writer and reader to information that can wait. Let me begin by saying i had been praying about this day for over eight months. Hard road. It stunk. But on to the day, Wednesday, February 2nd, 2011.

After a hardy breakfast of approximately 10 or 12 pancakes topped with Natural Jif. i Took a shower knowing full well it was to be my last, with two of my smarter teeth. Today was the day i was to get two [almost] innocent and bright teeth prodded, yanked, towed, and jerked out of my head.

A rainy and grey day to match my mood, i headed off in the car with the dad at the wheel. On arrival, instead of the cliché wood frame around glass as a door, it was solely the wood frame with cardboard. Complete with one of the most hospitable signs a local dentist could offer. Yes, my thoughts exactly, hospitable and this profession never walk hand in hand. In fact they detest each other with so much hatred and malice, they're on opposite poles.

i Barely had walked into the room at 8 AM and learned that another dentist had been hit by a burglar as well, 20 minutes earlier the previous night, when one in white asked me a question that should be kept far away from a place with such worry, anxiety, fretfulness, and [most importantly as you will be sure to be warned about] pressure.

"Theodore? Are you ready?"

That standing alone could make me type for hours about such an absurdity. i Won't bore you, but let me just conclude with a quick thought about it. She had not processed the question before she spoke. As she began saying the words, i noticed she knew she had made a mistake.

Begrudgingly, i plodded after her with the most heavy steps. As i mentioned before, my appointment was in the little pond edge town i live in. Not some urban city with sidewalks and buildings all around. In a town with a town cannon named Thor and a waterfront fit for fishers and their beer. Not some metropolis with oral surgeons with green salad pinned to fans and walls constructing streamers in front of doorways. Needless to say, i was not "going under." i Was not going out like a light, while they pulled and tugged and ripped.

My eyes were in full function. The entire time of trauma and torment.

Why in the world would my parents make me go through with this, and i agree? It's easy. "Don't make us happy, save money!" i Chant for my parents to remind them i'm not their best kid. In this case, it was a strenuous path to follow. Nevertheless, it began.

"We're going to numb you first, then we'll get started." The attractive dark haired girl said. Ah, finally a statement. Whether i agreed or opposed strongly (the latter obviously), it didn't matter for obvious reasons. i Asked one lady if i could sneak in an earphone while they labored and slogged, and the reply was [in all seriousness,.. this time] music to my ears. They told me to get comfortable and fiddle with the magically slim 2nd generation, which was over too quickly. i Had fixed a playlist to last at least a minimum of two hours and thirty minutes. i Had my left earphone set in place and the doctor was up to mischievousness behind my head.

"Open wide for me." These words in a place of such fear and stress just don't quite fit either. They insist on utilizing them with clarity however.

Needles.

Sting.

"You're going to feel a little sting in a second." -Whamslam- Stung-ed. Then, "And this one is going to sting the worst." -Jabbing needle into roof of mouth- First thoughts you ask? How about as politely and censored as possible, "Excuse me but @#$%, i think you missed the @#$%9 gum where the tooth is. @#$%. For, my toofs rest on this red hill see. Not quite in the middle of @#$% my head." Oh well, needles were over. Good...i thought. i Was told to rest my jaw and wait for a few minutes.

Before i knew it, i was asked yet another question. "Are you feeling pretty numb in there?" i Sure hope so ma'am, i'm hoping i'm so numb you could drive your vehicle over the right side of my face. i Should have said, but i think i just mumbled a weak "Mhmm...yes."

The decision was made to take care of the one on top that wasn't protruding forward and hiding garbage and possibly an answer to my problems, but that's another report. Reaching behind my head again, a shovel was grasped within the pretty gloved hands and i was told more fateful words. (The conversation that went on during this time was enthralling to say the least. i'm sure you can tell.)

"You're going to feel a lot of pressure, but there shouldn't be any pain. Let me know if there is any."

Such warm words of encouragement. A comedian talks about feeling this same pressure and well, it's a riot. He warns that a doctor could be brandishing a two by four and say informatively, "In a moment you're going to feel a little pressure." This sums it up. My head was twisted and catapulted every which way, while simultaneously feeling like the equivalent of having someone duct tape your soul and start wrenching with all their might. Then a pleasant pop, and a real tooth with real cementum hovered over my face for a second before disappearing forever.

This has gone on too long, permission to halt your reading is granted anytime, day or night. The bottom tooth had to come out still. The impacted one. The that had come in facing forward. Tasty.

i Was told she had to drill the tooth because unlike the other one, it was pushing against a molar. The other one they could gouge and simply yank with small pliers [my dad had brought probably, saving money issue]. i Was told once more to let her know (or scream i wanted to plead?) if it hurt. The drilling commenced. Throbbing did too. i Tried to look as helpless as possible and squint my eyes with all my might, keeping them open so she could see the anguish. More needles. Shot up with more Novocain (a derivative of it truthfully, i learned), she was ready to battle the heartless and cruel enemy of mine now. Drilling. More. And water with the drill and that absolutely worthless tool that is supposed to suck up the "stuff" i don't wallow in or swallow. (i Wonder if anyone at all has even thought of a better option. Screwy business.)

Stabbing pangs. More shots. And this cycled through at least one more time totaling at about six (yep, 6) shots of this supposedly anesthetized senseless substance. She gave up and said she was off to get "the big guns." She had never done impacted "wisdom" teeth before.

The doctor who was taking care of me, had never removed my sort of teeth. This narrator, was again a "guinea pig" for someone's career. The Guns entered and proceeded to grab hold of the Devil with the failing pliers, and cracks louder than Old West dynamite booms sounded. It didn't give up. The Guns did.

He told her he was going to let her do it after giving some more inconceivable intel. about "flapping." (Maybe i had too much wannabe Novocain.) She continued, with a nervous agreement and look toward the Big Guns. Finally, it came out. Announcing with triumph, naturally for she, and i the guinea pig, had passed through the Abyss.

Many much warnings and plenty of information given, i said a feeble thank you and swayed and sauntered off forgetting my wind-breaker.

This pointless notation hurt me too. The ravines in my skull now quiver from being talked about to this extent.

Parting remark: When asked if i saw the teeth after they came off, i answered with a yes and an acknowledgement that i had seen them "carry" it off. Although, heaved and hauled is much more fitting.