Here And Thereafter (2)
"Well, now that we've established that you're Larry, may I ask why it is that you're visiting the Clinton household?" "Yeah," said Larry. "I was getting ta dat. Ya see, last week I sent out a flyer stating that the rent due for this month would be increased a tad bit. Now, what I'm doing today is going out to all the tenants and making sure that they didn't just throw it out with the rest of the junk mail." "Well, you don't have to worry about us," said Medina. "We read over the flyer in full, so we know about the rate increases." Here Larry noticed a downtrodden air about Medina that wasn't there when she first opened the door. He blamed it on him bringing up the fact that rent would be higher this month than previous months and sought to rectify it by presenting his explanation. "Now, I don't want you to think that I'm getting any more of a percentage of you and your husband's rent money. It's just that the utility companies are requiring more from me and I have to require more from you. You do understand that, don't you?" "You don't have to worry about us," said Medina. "My husband and I came up with a solution that will get you your money on time. And we're already working on one that will do it for future months." It seemed to Larry that a small weight had been lifted from off of Medina's shoulders and he was glad because of it. "Well now, I'm glad to hear it. I'd better get on with alerting the tenants about this month's rate increases. You take care now, Mrs. Clinton." "You too, Larry." Medina closed and locked the door and made her way back to the sofa. Before she could fully situate herself there was a rattling with the doorknob and her husband entered the apartment. "Hi, sweetie," said he. "I just saw Larry walking from our apartment. What did he want?" "Oh, he just came by to make sure we didn't throw away the flyer that he put in our mailbox and that we knew about the rate increases for this month's rent." "I see," replied her husband as he sat down beside her. "So," began Medina, "did anything noteworthy happen at work today?" "What do you mean by that?" said her husband with a sly smirk on his face. "You know what I mean," said Medina. "Tell me about what happened at work today." "Well, there was one something that I could perhaps share with you," said he as he flipped through the channels. "Start sharing," said Medina. Christopher awoke to the beeping sound of the alarm clock. He hastily pushed the button to turn it off. He didn't want to awaken Dina in the slightest. He had already seen an instance of her stirring on the spot next to him while the alarm was buzzing. He looked at the clock and it read 5:47. He had to be at work at 6:45. On days in which he had to open he always had the alarm clock set for 5:45, just in case he needed a little more sleep. He got out of the bed and went into the bathroom and quickly began to wash himself out of the faucet. He washed all of the primary areas and changed his underwear. When time pressed him, Christopher almost always opted to wash out of the faucet instead of taking a shower or bath. It was this philosophy--too--that he passed on to his wife. But this was only a portion of the things that had become amalgamated between the two of them since their marriage. Christopher had, on many occasions, requested raisins in his oatmeal whenever it was served for breakfast. He thought on this occurrence while he prepared himself for work. The couple had just about always ate breakfast with one another as Chris almost always closed at the golf course, thus opening up the avenue. His thoughts were particularly centered around food as he went back into the room to change into his uniform because his stomach began to let him know that it was time to eat. Hopefully his boss, Stan the caddy master, would allow someone from the opening crew to leave for Burger King or Mcdonalds for breakfast. Before he left the room he kissed Medina on the cheek and inwardly wondered if she would remember that he had to open today. She'd find out soon enough, he thought to himself and left the apartment. Christopher had, as his vehicle, a somewhat new Kia Spectra. It was white and a 2002 edition. It was parked in the parking lot with all of the other tenants vehicles. He ambled his way toward his vehicle and pulled out his keys. The temperature was perfect for a day at the golf course, it being an early Spring period. He started the ignition and began pulling out of the parking space. There was a gatekeeper that gave access to and from the parking lot. Usually two men would take turns throughout the day guarding the entrance from possible theft. The gatekeeper saw that Christopher was leaving and opened the gate as he waved goodbye to him. Chris waved as well. He pulled out onto the street and drove away. While driving (and really during almost anytime), Chris had a habit of listening to classical music. It was a trait that he had picked up during his younger years when he took piano lessons. To be quite honest, the young man was absolutely stricken with it, particularly Russian Classical and Rachmaninoff. He even went so far as to assign themes to characters in his fantasy novel. For instance, Pagannini's Violin Concerto #1 was assigned as the theme of one of his villains who went by the name of Ranmah. Currently, the station that he was listening to was playing some Prokofiev. Christopher was always on time. Punctuality was a motto that he practiced religiously and he had to, because Stan the caddy master was watching the performance of his staff like a hawk. It also didn't hurt matters much either that there was a freeway which led to his destination. He almost always used the freeway, unless there was a burger joint like Burger King on another route and he was hungry before his afternoon shift. But on this Monday morning there was a traffic jam that plagued the Southfield Freeway here in metro Detroit. "What the freak!" began Christopher as he got an idea of how far the traffic lagged. Chris made his way through the jam amidst much honking of the horns from other patrons (which is understandable, considering that none of them wanted to be late for work), until he noticed that toward the horizon there were police lights flashing and as he came closer to his exit he heard the sirens. It turned out that the police had been involved in a chase with a stolen truck that was supplied with money for an ATM machine. Christopher looked in wonderment as the cops rounded up the suspects in handcuffs and it took the honking of a horn behind him to get him to realize that there were many people coupled at his behind before he began to move on. He had been keeping tabs on the clock ever since he got into the traffic jam and it took a whopping twenty minutes before he made it out alive, which left the clock at 6:23. It never hurts to be prepared for the unexpected, thought Chris to himself as he drove onward down the street of 8 Mile. From this point on it would take about five to ten minutes before he made it to his place of employ. He didn't rush though. He took his time, feeling confident that he'd punch in before 6:30, and he did. He made it to the parking lot of the caddy shack at 6:29. He found himself a parking place and speedily made his way to the caddy office where the timer was. While he was running, he noticed that the bag room wasn't opened yet. He punched in at exactly 6:30 and let loose a sigh of relief. Some of his co workers had already punched in. Stan wasn't there yet, but he knew that he'd be taking a look at the timecards and corroborating them with the schedules. If someone had been late for an obscence amount of days, Stan would have a talk with them. If it continued, Stan would suspend them. And if continued after that--well--there was the possibility that you could get fired. Chris took a seat inside of the office. There was a great counter that had itself situated into the wall in which he could rest his arms. Also, there was a clear view from the window which sat before him allowing one to see the pro shop and the newly cut green grass as well as get a glimpse of when memebers were on their way down to the bag room. Moe "Schmo" (as he was nicknamed) Bellian came waltzing into the caddy office from the caddy shack (which was a recreation room for the caddies that housed such things as a video arcade and a few tables which were usually used for playing cards). He came from the caddy shack zipping up his pants, which Christopher noticed. It would be unfair to say that Christopher disliked Moe, it was just that there were some aspects of his character that served as breeding grounds for conflict. Moe was caucasian and somewhat chubby. He was either Irish or Scottish, Christopher could never tell. He was generally seen as the leader of Stan the caddy master's staff, and for this very reason drew the ire of many of his co workers, save Christopher and perhaps another staff member here or there. The thought of the bag room still being locked came to Christopher's mind and he decided to air it to Moe. "The bag room is still locked. We can't get the morning started without access to the front cart barn." "I know," said Moe. "I just had to take a leak before I got started. Man, I partied until I couldn't party anymore last night." "I see. So you were drinking? Are you feeling all right?" "Man, I've got it bad. But I've been worse. I'll be all right." Christopher followed Moe to the locked entrance to the bag room and watched as he first undid the lock on the gate. Next he began to undo the locks on the door itself. "Who else are we working with today?" asked a folded arms Christopher as he watched Moe undo the last lock. "Gregory," said Moe. "I think that's it. It'll be just us three, The Three Amigos." "Either that or The Three Musketeers," said Christopher. "Whatever," was Moe's reply. Moe Schmo undid the final lock on the door and Chris followed him inside. If one were to describe the characteristics of the bag room, they'd find that there wasn't really much of anything to tell. There were four racks in which the bags could be placed and these racks extended from one end of the room to another. Each rack was labeled with one letter between and including the letters A through D. There were also numbers on the top and bottom of the racks which numbered from anywhere to one all the way into the early hundreds. At the front of the room there was a list on the wall with a member's name as well as their rack number. This list had to be updated constantly as there were many instances of the club accepting new members. There was also a movable podium inside of the bag room that the next day's tee times were always placed on. The tee times were placed on and with a clip board. The floor of the bag room was painted burgundy but there was chipped paint in many places. Also, there was a golf bag in the corner of the room that housed missing clubs and two garbage cans in the front of the structure that housed missing items like head covers and the like. There was one last door that Moe Schmo had to unlock, which led to the cart barn. Christopher waited patiently as he looked for the right key. Moe Schmo opened the door just as Gregory came into the bag room after punching in. He was black and tall and somewhat chubby "What's up, doggy?" said Chris to Gregory upon seeing him enter the bag room. The term 'doggy' was slang for buddy around Crick Hollow Golf Course. It was mostly reserved for the African American staffers. Chris' visage was notably brighter at the sight of his co worker Gregory. "What's up, Chris," said Gregory, who was also beaming at the sight of Chris. It must be noted here that both Chris and Gregory were quite close. The two possessed a common trait of wanting a better life, not just now, but later on during adulthood. And despite the fact that Chris was about four years older than him they still managed to hit it off like they were around the same age. As soon as Moe saw that Gregory had arrived he expressed his desire to see him go set up the range, which was where the golfers practiced using their clubs. Gregory, however, saw this as a personal insult and sought to state his case with Stan's leading staffer. "Wait a minute. Just because I come in late I have to go and set up the range? Naw doggy, it don't work like that. Why don't you go set up the range." "Look, I'm not going to argue with you. The range needs to be set up. Chris and I were here on time which leaves you as the obvious candidate." "So what? I was a few minutes late. It's not like I was thirty minutes late. You're just using that as an excuse to get me over there. But I'm not going, doggy. You go set up the range." "All right. Well, I'll just tell Stan that the range didn't get set up today because Gregory didn't want to do his job." "I don't care, Moe. You tell him whatcha gotta tell him. But I'm not settin' up the range." The two continued back and forth for a protracted while, and Chris--seeing where it was going, or rather where it had gone--decided to help alleviate the matter. "Cool it, guys," he said with a motion of his hands. "I'll set up the range." "That's great, Chris," said Moe Schmo. "We've got a team player in you, buddy, which is unlike some people I know." Moe gave Gregory an accusatory look while he said this. Gregory rolled his eyes at it. Moe Schmo opened the garage door that blocked the passage of the golf carts to the outside world as he watched Chris move toward the movable bin that housed a plethora of golfballs. "Don't forget to change the stands," said Moe. "That is, of course, if yesterday's closers forgot to do it." "Right," said Chris as he began moving the bin out of the cart barn. Chris could've mentioned here how he had been working here longer than Moe Schmo himself and that he knew what he was doing but he kept on truckin'. He rolled the bin toward the range as he took one last look at Moe and Gregory driving the carts out of the barn and parking them on the tournament grass. The tournament grass lay to the side of the paved path linking the pro shop with the caddy office and it was termed the tournament grass because that's where the carts were parked during tournaments or even a regular day's activities. On the other side of the path and across from the tournament grass lay the chipping green. This is where golfers practiced putting and also short golf shots. Chris made it to the range and saw that the golf bag stands hadn't been changed at all, so he went about changing them. The morning mists still lay limply on the grass and throughout the atmosphere. Chris started by pulling out one of the stands and looking for a fresh area of grass to place it on. Of course, all of the twelve stands had to be placed in a straight line for continuity's sake. When he found a chosen area that seemed good in his vision he dug the spikes of the stand into the earth. Next, he went after another stand and placed it four whole paces to the side of the other stand. He did this until he reached the twelfth and final stand and then he surveyed his work. He had chosen a good area. Now all that was left to do was to set boundaries on how much grass could be used to practice. The club did this by undoing wrapped up yellow cord and placing two strings of it on the grass, one to mark where to begin hitting and another to mark where to stop hitting, so that the two cords were parallel to each other. Chris began unwrapping the yellow cord and laid it out on the grass. He then walked four paces and laid the other yellow cord in front of the one he laid previously. He was almost done. Next he had to set up the pyramids of balls. Crick Hollow had a plastic ball holder shaped like a pyramid. Chris began scooping up some of the golf balls and placed them in the plastic pyramid until it was full. He then placed a plastic holder on top of the balls, quickly carried the pyramid to one of the stands, flipped over the pyramid holder with his hands whilst still holding on to the plastic holder (so as not to spill balls all over the place), and laid it on the ground, producing a pyramid of golf balls. He did this for the next eleven stands and then he was done. A great majority of the staffers don't like doing the range. Chris thought on this as he reflected on Gregory becoming upset about Moe telling him to do the range and also as he began to survey his work for the final time. The reason most guys don't like doing the range, he surmised (and this is something that he has reflected on previously) is because it seperates you from the social enviornment of being a staffer. Becoming part of the staff changes you. It molds you as you become a part of an inner circle for perhaps the very first time in your life. The caddies of the club aspire to be like you, as the natural progression of becoming a caddy is to graduate to becoming on staff. This is why so many people dislike doing the range, especially using the range cart to pick up all the balls, because you're isolated from the rest of your 'clique' so to speak. But I don't mind doing the range, thought Chris to himself. There's peace and serenity that comes with doing the range, as Chris could attest to, because all throughout his earlier years he did the range, and never minded it one bit. It gave him the time to think to himself, and for a creative mind like Chris' that was akin to joy unspeakable. When Chris made it back to his co workers he found that the front cart barn had been pretty much emptied. He saw Schmo heading from the tournament grass and sought to question him. "You got the keys for the back cart barn?" asked Chris. "Yeah. You're about to go back there?" "We gotta, man. Have you seen the list for today's shotgun?" "Yeah, I've seen the list," said Moe Schmo. "And it's a biggie. Why don't you and Gregory take care of emptying out the back cart barn while I go and get some breakfast. Whaddaya want from McDonalds?" Schmo took the orders of both Christopher and Gregory and said that he'd be back in due time. Chris and Gregory made themselves busy by emptying out the back cart barn amidst talking to one another. "Chris, doggy, I am so sick and tired of having to work with Schmo. Everyday he's got something to say that I don't like. Don't you get tired of people like that?" "I just try and sidestep the issue when someone here has something to say that I don't like. Or I just don't get too uptight about it. This job is too stressful to get mad at your co workers. You already have the golfers to deal with. Why would you want to get into it with your co workers? Like today, earlier, Schmo told me not to forget to change the stands. Now, I could have went on and on about how I had been working there longer than even he has, but I just took it in stride and went my way. I'm telling you man, the day flows much better when you're not involved in all kinds of strife." "Doggy, I wish I could be like you in that regard." Chris smiled at Gregory upon hearing this. He had, many times, attempted to caution Gregory about his anger, especially as it relates to his co workers. Sometimes it seemed like it was working, sometimes it didn't. Nevertheless, he wasn't too keen on forsaking his pal Gregory. The duo continued emptying out the barn until, at one point, they were approached by O' Mally, the head pro of Crick Hollow. He addressed Christopher, whom he had known longer. "Has Stan come in yet," he said in his customary low tone. "No. We haven't heard from Stan all morning. You want me to tell him you're looking for him when he comes in?" "Yeah. Just tell him I want to talk to him about today's shotgun." O' Mally made his way back to the pro shop and Chris and Gregory finished off the back cart barn. While they were emptying out the barn they caught glance of Moe Schmo inside of the caddy office. However, they had decided to finish their work before they ate, and now they were finished. The duo entered the caddy office with anticipation. "You did make sure they gave you everything we ordered, right Schmo?" said Gregory. "Yeah. I paid special attention to your order, Gregory, because I knew you'd be all peeved about it if they got it wrong." Schmo handed Gregory the bag that held his order. Chris came in behind Gregory and waited for Schmo to give him his order. "Here you go, Chris. They got your order right too." "Thanks, Schmo," said Christopher. The three ate their food in the presence of one another and there was very little talking until Chris brought up the status of Stan. "I wonder why Stan hasn't gotten in yet. He's usually here much earlier on Mondays, isn't he?" "Yeah. You're right," said Schmo taking the last bite out of his breakfast sandwich. "My guess is that he's had as good a night as I did." "That would make sense," said Chris as he thought on it for a short while. But before he could say anything else the trio caught glance of Stan coming from the direction of the parking lot and walking past the window of the caddy office. He entered into the office and said nothing at first. Instead, he gave each of his staffers a thorough glance and they tried to return the favor but it didn't come off as well as how Stand did it. He then looked inside of the McDonald's bag that was closest to Moe and said: "Nobody got me anything?"
Copyright © 2004 Michael Harris |