Training to be a starter at a golf course

There were some hiccups today at Quail Run, but they’re still handing me the keys on Thursday.

LA PINE, Ore. - I showed up in the Quail Run Golf Course parking lot at 6:57 a.m., enough time to brush my teeth, spit out the toothpaste in a flower bed and head to the pro shop to meet with Dale Toten at 7 o’clock.

Dale’s the one and only course marshal at Quail Run, an underrated and overlooked course for no good reason because it’s the best bang for your buck for golfers in Central Oregon.

You don’t pay $100 to play here, but if they charged that much, you’d have no complaints. It’s a terrific layout, and it’s in great shape too. From the blue tees, the slope is the same as you’ll find at Crosswater in Sunriver, which costs a fortune to play.

I met Dale a few weeks ago when Mikey and I played Quail Run after I emailed the head pro about the possibility of working there as a marshal or starter.

Dale hired me five minutes after I met him - no background checks, no fingerprinting, no interviews to speak of, just a feeling Dale had that I might somehow be cut out to welcome golfers on the first tee every nine minutes.

They have seven starters at Quail Run, one for each day of the week. Some guy named Neal, who was the Thursday starter, quit last week because of a bad back, creating an opening for me.

Dale’s my age, and I love him already. He’s a Mike Holmgren look-a-like who’s been here for 17 years. He’s banged up from competing in rodeo events for decades. After an accident in the ring, Dale was given a 20 percent chance to walk again. The fact that he can limp around with a cane makes him feel grateful and thankful even if he’s in nonstop pain and can’t get a good night’s sleep.

We hung out at the starter’s shack, greeting golfers as they arrived for their tee times. Dale explained the Quail Run ground rules to them and later that morning I was the one who told them to keep their carts on the path on the par-3’s and to order food from the clubhouse off the menu on the ninth tee so it will be ready after you leave the ninth green.

Outside alcohol is not allowed at Quail Run, which is no different than any other course, and I thought I might have to inspect coolers for illegal beers and confiscate them, which I wasn’t looking forward to at all.

I’ve been that smuggler golfer guy more than once - as in more than 100 times - packing my much cheaper beers into my bag, ready to be pulled out on the second tee when the authorities were nowhere in sight anymore.

But no one had a cooler to inspect in my three hours of training, thank God. I’m sure it’s gonna happen, and I’m sure when I take those beers away and put them into the starter’s shack where they can pick them up later, there will be under-the-breath muttering back in the carts of “damn, that guy’s an old white haired dick.”

Little will they know that the old white haired dick used to do what they’re doing now, the difference being that in order for me to not get fired from a third job in four years, I have to take their beers this morning, I’m sorry fellas, truly, I am, like really sorry, you have no idea.

It seemed like every foursome had one or two Ducks. Green and gold Oregon gear, hats and shirts, and you name it, that big O was impossible to miss. And of course I sarcastically thanked them for “kicking us Cougs to the curb.”

When there were a few breaks on the tee sheet, Dale asked me to move some carts from a waiting line they were in to an area where they were parked side by side. I backed them into each spot, only to discover that I had not parked them at the right angle by one of Quail Run’s owners and her son in law.

They were nice about it, but I was thinking, Jesus, give the new guy a break. I didn’t want to tell them why I was having a problem backing those carts in the way they wanted them parked.

I pictured myself saying: “Hey Laurie and Jed, the reason why I’m having a hard time backing these things in is because my neck still hurts from a golf cart that I flipped in Pullman two months ago” and seeing their reaction, as in “why the hell did Dale hire this idiot?” and “what are we doing letting this guy drive one of our golf carts?”

My favorite part of the job so far is my least favorite part at the same time. I’m not getting paid minimum wage or anything at all - you’re given two free rounds of golf and lunch for every shift you work and range balls to hit whenever.

I’m fine with that especially since I don’t have to bother with a clock to punch or an app to download my hours. With substitute teaching, they use Red Rover, an app that you use to record your hours, and I’m guessing it’s such a pain in the ass that I didn’t even bother with recording my two hours from earlier this month at Silver Rail Elementary. Is $18 an hour for two hours worth the aggravation from the frustration of fumbling my way through cyberspace? I don’t think I can answer “no” quickly enough.

The best part of the day was driving with Dale on the front nine as he made his rounds, telling one group to pick up their pace and the other groups that he was doing his best to speed up play.

I say it was the best part of my day because that’s when I met a 95-year-old lefty who just hit a 140-yard shot that would have ended up on the green if it had just gone left or right of the bunker.

Listen, if I’m alive at 95 and hitting 140-yard shots, throw a damn parade for me, OK? Ralph plays three times a week and routinely shoots his age.

This is the latest answer to the question of “what in the world should I do in retirement,” an answer that changed last week when I quit my job as a concert security guy at the Hayden Homes Amphitheater.

Why did I quit? I hope to explain why in my next post if I can get my wife’s permission. I know, I know, Jesus, Moore, why do you need your wife’s permission? It’s a sensitive subject, the likes of which makes no sense, but in the meantime, Hi I’m Jim and welcome to Quail Run Golf Course, hope you all have a great round today.

Donnie Roberts of Federal Way with his grandsons, Kolton, 3, and Wesley, 6.

DAIRY QUEEN GIFT CARD WINNER!

When I closed in on 1,000 subscribers, I decided to give a $20 Dairy Queen gift card to the 1,000th subscriber.

Donnie Roberts of Federal Way won the gift card. He emailed me to thank me and told me he was taking his grandkids to Dairy Queen to celebrate.

Donnie sent me two photos and a video in which his grandkids said: “Thank you Mr. Moore!”

They were cute as could be, as you can see in the photo.

Let’s do it again. If I’m fortunate enough to get to 1,200 subscribers, I’ll send a $30 Dairy Queen gift cart to the 1,200th subscriber.

Thanks for reading. Have a good rest of your day.