So this guy asked me whether I played golf. I had no idea why he asked me this. He probably learned at some expensive networking class to open-up a business-mixer conversation with a non-business related question. That was what they taught me at the class I had to go to.
I said, “not regularly, ” hoping that would stop him from rambling on about a topic that did not interest me. Unfortunately for me, before I could even try to change the subject, he continued; telling me about all the fancy and elite country clubs and golf courses he played.
This is when the second guy came up to us, nodded at me, and jumped into the conversation. The second guy asked the first guy, “Ever play Devil’s Golf Course?”
“Tough course,” the first guy said. “Very tough.”
“Not so bad,” the second guy said. “I pulled a par.”
I got confused, not sure whether the second guy was trying to impress the first guy or me. The second guy certainly did not impress me with his ‘head-nod’ greeting. I quickly excused myself for the ladies room, before either guy could ask me for my business card or worse; my personal phone number or email address.
My friend Diane was at the counter in the ladies room fixing up her make-up. She saw me in the reflection of the mirror as I entered and smiled at me as she did her lipstick.
I walked up to the counter and put my purse on the counter. “I hate these networking mixers.”
“The crappy food?”
“The creepy guys?”
“Exactly. These two guys were –I think– hitting on me trying to one-up each other about their golf skills.” I slipped out of my shoes and tried to wiggle some blood back into my toes. “Like where they play golf matters.” I pulled my hair brush out from my purse. “Who cares if one of them pared at some crazy place named ‘Devil’s Golf Course’.”
“Are you serious? He said he played golf there? ‘Devil’s Golf Course’?”
“Maria, they are either b-s-ing you or they have no clue. Devil’s Golf Course is not a golf course. It is a rock formation in Death Valley.”
“No way.” I put my brush back in my purse.
“Absolutely. My husband and I were in Death Valley a couple of years ago on vacation. We took one of those all day tours out of Vegas and it was a tour stop. You don’t play golf in Death Valley; it gets to be like 120 degrees there. Who the hell are they kidding?”
“Thanks.” I put my shoes back on, grabbed my purse and went back out to the coyotes. The things we must do to keep our bosses happy.
“Hon, you never brushed your hair.” I stopped for a moment all frazzled, threw up my hands, and decided to let my hair be.
I walked out of the ladies room and straight to the bar.