Stacy is rummaging through the garage looking for her set of golf clubs. Her brother is coming down from Northern Alberta and the first thing on the agenda is to hit the links.
When she announced in May that she had snapped up a deal in the Sunshine State and was moving her internet marketing business down there, Roger almost fell into a tailing pond. Luckily his buddy had quick reflexes. His phone however was sacrificed to the abominations living in the sludge.
With over 1250 golf courses in Florida and over 70 golf courses in the Tampa Bay area alone, Roger is flying into a veritable nirvana. The days are pretty dark and cold up there in Fort McMurray in December, so he is looking forward to the sticky heat wave ripping through Central Florida right now.
There’s nothing like a hot sauna to sweat out all those toxins.
WestJet Flight 1244 is on its final approach to Tampa Airport. Roger stows his table and checks his watch. Right on schedule. He crooks his neck to peek out the window but can only catch a glimpse of some green patches in the distance. That’s enough to bring a huge smile to his face as he leans back and closes his eyes for the landing. He’s a bit of a nervous flyer.
A purple electric Smart Car pulls into the cellphone waiting lot just as Roger collects his golf bag. Stacy takes out her tablet and double-checks the tee off time at the Avila Country Club while she waits for her brother to text her. He is still at the baggage claim checking his clubs and counting his balls (ahem…golf balls). A dirty dozen should be more than enough for the week, he figures.
Ding ding. That’s Stacy’s cue to head to the terminal.
She can’t wait to see the look on Roger’s face when they drive up to the exclusive Jack Nicklaus designed golf course. A client of hers is a member and has invited them for a foursome with her husband (still talking golf here). Roger has no idea.
Meanwhile at the country club, Nancy and Brandon are in the pro shop buying a couple of 12-packs of Titleist Pro V1’s. Their last round on the weekend sucked up a few more balls than usual so they are stocking up, just in case. At least the course is drier today. Last week the downpours turned the fairway into a sponge.
The trip from the airport to Avila is about 30 minutes long which gives Stacy plenty of time to warn Roger about Brandon’s particular golfing philosophy. “He talks to his balls,” she giggles.
Roger laughs. “I know lots of guys who do that. It can get pretty lonely up there in the work camps.”
“That’s hilarious. Then you’ll feel right at home.” She curves north on the 275 then does a quick swerve onto the shoulder which almost pushes Roger into her. “Sorry about that, Rog. Sinkhole.” She checks her blind spot and slowly rejoins the highway traffic.
“Good job there, Sis.” He leans back to let the adrenaline wear off. “Don’t they fix the highways here? You could have driven right into it.” He turns back around and sees another car do just that.
Stacy hands him her cellphone and tells him to call it in. “It’s in my favourites. Highway Patrol.”
She keeps driving as if nothing had happened while her brother sits there dumfounded at how blasé she is about the ordeal. Teeth clenched, he glues his eyes to the road ahead for the rest of the trip.
…to be continued in Poodles On A Golf Course?
