We live almost across the street from a
private golf club (no, I am not a member so I yell and shake a fist
at whoever may hit a golf ball into our yard). One day earlier in
the spring, while raking leaves in the yard, I wiped my brow
and hoped that St. Pauli Girl would come out, offer me a beer and
tell me to quit for the day. Suddenly I heard a thumping noise as a
car came down the road next to the golf course. Someone definitely
had a flat tire.
The car slowly veered onto our street
and stopped in the middle of the street in front of our house. Now
our street is very narrow and appears more like a driveway, but
nevertheless it is still a street where cars do go in both directions
often times much faster than they should.
I stood and waited for the driver to
exit the car. Knowing that chivalry would demand that I offer to
help if the driver were female, I prayed for a male driver. Luckily,
the driver was a man, an older man, but I judged him fit enough to
change the tire by himself. I resumed raking.
Despite the fact that the back tire was
flat, he knelt down by the front tire and examined it for some
reason. After a few minutes, he went behind the car and opened the
trunk. I saw him moving some things around, then he came back and
looked at the back flat tire. I felt relieved that I would not have
to go down and point out the correct flat tire. He then pulled out
his phone and made a call.
"Ah," I thought in relief.
"he's calling AAA or a buddy so I don't have to worry about
whether or not I should offer to help."
Upon completion of his call, he went
back to the trunk where he pulled out his golf clubs which I assumed
were blocking his access to the spare tire and jack. Instead, he
closed the trunk and stepped onto the grass bordering the golf
course. He pulled out some golf clubs and started swinging them to
loosen up.
"Interesting," I thought. "I
guess maybe he called his friends to have them pick him up on the way
to the golf course."
He then grabbed his golf bag and
carried it down next to a tree bordering the first fairway. A few
minutes later, a golf club worker pulled up in a golf cart. They
threw his bag in the back and drove back to the first tee.
Apparently, so as not to miss his tee time, he had called the golf
club pro shop and asked to have someone come pick him up.
It's quite possible I would have done
the same thing except for the part where he parked his car in the
middle of our road.
"Whatever," I thought. "Maybe
AAA is going to come fix it while he plays golf. At least it's
Sunday and there's not much traffic on the road."
But AAA never came. And as darkness
settled in, the golfer never came back either. The disabled car
remained parked in the middle of the road overnight and through most
of Monday as well. I finally noticed at some point Monday night, the
car had disappeared.
I tried to decide if he was arrogant or
just stupid then realized that was a waste of my own time trying to
figure that out. The lesson in retrospect, was that I should have
offered to help. He may have declined my offer, but at least when
the caddy came up in the golf cart, I could have said, "Woah,
woah, woah, buddy. Let's get this car off the road and out of the
way before you get to your jolly, jaunty golf game. And whatever you
do, don't park it on my lawn!"
