Fitty

Last weekend I unleashed my golf skills on an unwitting golf course named Ute Creek.  (Side note: Despite having lived in a subdivision named “Spring Valley at Ute Creek” for three years now, I have no idea how to pronounce this odd little word, “Ute.”  I have a hunch it’s the name of a Native American tribe (who, I’m sure, are thrilled to have a suburban subdivision named after them), but since I’m ignorant of Native American phonetics, this hunch doesn’t help me any.  I suppose some people might “look up” this kind of thing, but not me.  Instead, when I have no choice but to say the word aloud, I press my palms together, as a praying Asian might, and pronounce it “oo-TEEE!”  Sometimes I’ll even nod my head a little.  Out of deference.)

As my brother and I were wrapping up our domination of one hole, we saw a lemonade stand along the path to the next hole.  Two young girls had wisely set up shop at one of the course’s many street crossings.  As we were climbing back into our cart an old man named Starter drove by, motioned towards the children, and said, “Buy something from those little girls there.  Make them feel good.” 

I must admit, I was a little deflated by this command.  I was already planning on stopping at the stand, but now, thanks to Starter McGeezer, it wasn’t my idea anymore.  (And aren’t I getting a little old to be ordered around?)

Anyway, we stopped at the lemonade stand, and the deals were UNBELIEVABLE.  Everything on the table was 25 cents.  TWENTY FIVE CENTS!  I mean, the vending machine at work charges 55 cents per peanut, but here these girls are, offering me an entire bag of iced animal crackers for a mere quarter???  Crazy! 

So I decided that not only was I going to buy something for myself and my brother, I was going to give a 50 cent tip on top of the 50 cent bill.  Yep, that’s right: I’m the type of guy who will tip 100% when excited enough.  As I pulled a crisp greenback from my wallet, my mind raced through the various cool-guy things to say about my extravagant tip.  (Since these girls were about eight, I quickly tossed out the old stand-bys, like, “<wink> Buy yourself something skanky” and “<wink> Room 314.”)

I held the bill out but, before I could say anything, the girl looked disdainfully at it and asked, almost annoyed, “Do you want change for that?” 

“Um, no,” I answered sheepishly. 

The cookies sucked.