So turning sixteen was a big deal to me. My mom says that I think I know everything now that I'm driving. Well the joke's on her because it's true. Of course responsibility comes with knowing everything. The responsiblity to pay for gas and car insurance. Which meant I had to get a job. Sorting through my vast job options as a sixteen year old I narrowed the choices down to babysitter, burger-flipper, or caddy. I ruled out babysitting almost immediately, because my love for children is questionable. I received a life-long ban on the block party dino-jump last summer for my tendency to injure the jumping children, so I'm not sure how much work I would've gotten in that field. Well that little girl wouldn't have gotten drop kicked if she didn't call me a booger bad-guy. While I'm sure working hard for minimum wage and then quitting after two weeks would've been fantastic, I turned down the burger-flipper option, too. That left me with being a caddy, so I went over to the local country club and signed up.
Now I can't complain. Caddying isn't a paticularly interesting job, but I make decent money, and I pick my hours. Not a lot happens at this job, but I have one story that I feel compelled to tell to the world. Take a moment to prepare yourself for the immaturity of this story, for it's all about poo.
There is a kid who is also employed as a caddy where I work and to save him the embarassment I'm going to call him Jimmy. Jimmy is a freshman in high school and this is his first year caddying. Now Jimmy is having a fairly normal round, carrying a member's bag. We'll call this member Mr. Smith. Jimmy finds mid-round that he has to go to the bathroom. I know personally that some of the members can be intimidating and rather mean. While I would be embarassed to stop play because I needed to use the facilities, I gotta go when I gotta go. He apparently didn't agree with that logic. Jimmy, a seemingly house-broken young man, decides that the best course of action would be to defecate in his caddy shorts. Yes, he crapped his pants. Now Jimmy is faced with a bigger dilemma than disrupting Mr. Smith's golf game for a couple minutes. He has to find a way to explain to Mr. Smith that he has to stop caddying mid-round because he's now carrying more than a divot repair tool in his pants. Was it the smell that gave Jimmy away or did Jimmy just come out with the truth? It's a mystery to this day. All I know i that Jimmy had to make the walk of shame back to the club house to explain the whole story to the caddymaster so Mr. Smith could get a replacement caddy for the rest of the round.
I wanted to share this story so I could make this world a better place. We should all learn from Jimmy's mistake. If you think it's going to be inconvenient to interrupt an important meeting or event to take a bathroom break, think again. Consider the odds, no matter how small they seem, of you defecating your own pants. Go ahead, tell your boss you need to go to the john, it will be worth it. So I beg that anyone reading this go to the nearest toilet, take a seat, and have a moment of silence for Jimmy's dignity, because it's gone forever.