Life Face First: Negotiating One Calamity at a Time
“I have Saturday tickets,” I boasted shamelessly to my friend Samantha, a native of Greenville, South Carolina.
She stared back blankly. Clearly, she wasn’t evincing the envy I anticipated.
In my hometown of Augusta, Georgia, that statement requires no explanation, and is met with expressions of jealously followed closely by audacious begging. In Greenville, and presumably elsewhere in the country, I was going to have to explain.
“To the Masters,” I said smugly.
She continued to stare.
“The Masters Golf Tournament?” I waited for her to recognize the importance and become appropriately impressed. She looked particularly blank. “It’s held once a year. On the most beautiful golf course in the world. In Augusta! Augusta, Georgia! Where I’m from!”
That rang a bell.
“Neat,” she replied.
Neat? Was that all? I finally had tournament tickets with all the attached bragging rights, and her response was “neat”?
That would never do.
I wanted someone to express awe, and then beg to use my tickets. I had no intention of giving up my coveted time on the most beautiful golf course in the world, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to hear my “dearest friends” grovel, and by “dearest friends” I mean everyone who’s ever met me.
Sam showed no signs of groveling.
Not a problem. I took to Facebook where a considerable number of friends are Augusta natives.
“I have Saturday tickets,” I posted two weeks before tee off.
Groveling of a most shameless nature commenced. I grinned.
Satisfied that I’d induced appropriate jealousy amongst my friends, I began planning for our trip.
“What are you doing?” Brian asked me. He looked over my shoulder at the chart I was making.
“Calculating how many pimento cheese sandwiches I can consume per hour,” I replied.
The National is almost as famous for their sandwiches as they are for golf. Plus, they haven’t raised prices on food since 1981. Pimento cheese sandwiches are $1.50. I budgeted for six.
“I’ve dubbed our trip Pimento Cheese Weekend,” I told him. “I like golf, and I love Augusta, but the sandwiches are going to be the best part.”
The pimento cheese was excellent and the golf was even better, but they were trumped by a life-changing realization, and it all started when Brian and I went in search of restrooms.
We found the men’s room first. The line to get into the men’s room wrapped twice around the building. It looked like the line for the coolest rollercoaster in the amusement park.
I sighed and went in search of the women’s room. God only knew how long my wait would be there!
Imagine my shock when there was no line. I walked straight into the bathroom and found an empty stall.
That’s when an epiphany struck: more men attend golf tournaments than women do, and there is no waiting for a stall in the women’s room!
There’s no place on earth more beautiful than the course at Augusta National, except maybe the lack of a line in their women’s room and that’s something to brag about.
Nora Blithe is the author of the syndicated humor column “Life Face First.” Read her blog online at NoraBlithe.com.