Wednesday, February 16, 2011

fuck it, i'm getting a golf cart.

I survived the happy, heart-filled Monday holiday. In case anyone wondered.

I'll spare you all the happy, heart-filled details, but other than a fake-eyelash catastrophe, the evening actually was really fun and rather perfect, like a great snapshot from college where everyone is laughing and unposed amidst a sea of pictures with girls lined up to go out, eye makeup perfect, blinding smiles, an army of sameness. I got a beam-heavy pre-dinner drink, some red meat, and shrimp cocktail out of the deal. Not to mention the love and devotion of a stellar manfriend and of course, some chocolate...

Holy Sweet Moly I hope my parents haven't discovered this little venture of mine.

But yeah, Manfriend really went all-out with this one.  In fact, in addition to wooing me with pornographic material and various other undisclosed items, MY OWN MANFRIEND ORDERED A GLASS OF RED WINE FOR HIMSELF AT DINNER. What are we, cosmopolitan now? I didn't even think he knew the difference between Pinot Grigio and Cabernet. Oh, how wrong I was.

My, my , my. Times, they are a changin'.

So, despite my mind being blown to smitherines at being wined and dined and another thing that rhymes with that and describes a sexual position that I have never personally tried, Mom and Dad, I'm going to talk about something slightly more serious. Yep, you guessed it, it's the adult, or maybe just MY, affinity for driving miniature vehicles. Specifically, the golf cart.

By the way, I'm now so paranoid about my parents finding out my sexual exploits at age 24, by stumbing across my anonymous interwebz blog that I'm addressing them in my posts. Fuck, I need an anti-anxiety prescription of some kind.

BUT, the show must go on! And so I give you, my personal thoughts and musings on the awe-inspiring cart of golf!

There she is, in all her glory. No doors, all windows. Topping off at approximately 27 miles per hour, she sits in wait for the warm summer days when children and adults alike will abuse her wiles for anything but golfing.

What is it about dicking around aimlessly on slow-moving golf carts that makes them so appealing? Perhaps the universal key that allows all golf carts to be clicked to the 'on' position almost effortlessly? Or perhaps the fact that standard traffic rules don't seem to apply when putzing around in one of these vehicles? Maybe it's the complete lack of seat-belts, doors, and wind shield that gives the golf cart its sense of danger? There's really so many wonderful things about golf carts, despite the fact that they don't really have the speed OR safety factor going for them. It's an open invitation for as many people as can manage to pile on to find a firm grip and get ready for the ride of their lives. Or something.

As a child, who didn't fight with their siblings/the other ragamuffins running around with them over who got to drive the golden golf cart whenever one managed to make an appearance? Who didn't start driving one of these little death traps around, unsupervised for the most part, before reaching double digits in age?

I know I did, and just look how I turned out.


Our grandparents, for part of my childhood, had a house in Florida in a golf course community. That shit was REAL. I swear, golf cart was the primary mode of transportation. FOR GRANDCHILDREN. Come spring break a bunch of us hoodlums would meet up at the shuffle-board courts after dark to 'hang out.' Aka stand awkwardly in the shadows and glance surreptitiously at one another while only actually speaking to our own siblings.

And you know how all the cool kids got to the shuffle board courts? THEIR GRANDPARENTS' GOLF CARTS. Talk about a status symbol. Old people apparently have a lot of time on their hands to do things like trick out their slow-moving wheels, because shit, you wouldn't believe the chrome they can manage to trick out on these things. It's like middle-class street cred.

Or just sad.

I obviously prefer to look at it as CRED, WHAT?!

Oh also, when I was living/bartending/making a drunken whore fool of myself on 'The Island' in Lake Erie for two summers during college, golf carts were a quintessential part of island culture as a whole, adding emmensely to its reputation as "The Redneck Riviera." Although cars were welcomed and accepted, and semi-easy to get onto the island via the ferry, most tourists chose to leave their grown-up wheels at home and rent a golf cart to get them around the island for the duration of their trip. Because the only reason most people go to that island is to get drunk; it's a tiny strip of land covered in bars and bad hotels and dirty swim-up pool bars. And guess what? Apparently, drinking and driving is welcomed and encouraged in golf carts.

And people whipping around The Island were drunk on booze and DRUNK ON POWER. Or entitlement. Because of the golf cart and it not actually being a car, so therefore completely drivable despite those four Miami Vices the driver just slammed at the pool bar. Shit was seriouly unsafe on those mean streets after about noon on a Saturday when everyone started getting sufficiently liquored up and slurry. Plus, hitching a ride was a SNAP. If you needed to get from one end of the island to another, basically you just had to get someone to slow down enough to hop on a lap or hold on to the frame tight enough not to topple into the street.

I've actually seen the following conversation go down between a BRAH holding a coors light while driving, with a neck tattoo and VISOR and an actual law-enfrocement officer:

Johnny Law: "Ummmm, you're drinking a beer while operator a moving vehicle? And you just BLEW through that stop sign. Do you have your license on you somewhere?"

BRAH:  "Oh, that stop sign back there? No, no, no, I think you're confused, this is actually a golf cart...sooo, yeah, I think this conversation is over...."

Johnny Law: "I need to see your license right now please, and if you could just step out of the vehicle and sit on the curb there, that'd be great."

BRAH: "I only have that cart rented until five pm... so let's make this quick." (give's lisence)

Johnny Law: "This is wet? Why is this wet? Sir. You can't operate a vehicle by driving, it's illegal in all 50 states."


Etc, etc, etc, and then I walked away because I was bored and/or getting dumber watching this guy make a fool of himself.

But really, he was just under the golf cart's spell. Can we really blame him? I mean, yeah, obviously for the neck tattoo and visor... but other than that? It's hard to say.

It's really amazing there aren't more fatalties there.

Ah, but this isn't about The Island, this is about the GREATNESS that is feeling invincible when driving a vehicle that ISN'T a car, and therefore doesn't have to be treated with any semblance of concern for personal well-being or rules.


I'm thinking about trading in my Jeep because, come summer, I'm going to be in needed of a little recklessness, and a little chaos. And I feel like I'm kind of over the hump on my carefree, experiment-with-drugs phase, so to get my fix of the wild life, I plan on investing in a golf cart. See you on the other side.

XO Sare

1 comment:

  1. Fake-eyelash catastrophe, Beam-heavy drink, porn, miniature transportation... sounds like you're my twin. Go for it. I'm still holding out for them to be legal in city limits.