Ok, I'm going to be honest. It's not looking good on the internship front for me this summer. Four newspapers have already basically rejected me: The Lowell Sun, The Journal News, The Boston Phoenix along with the Boston Herald. The Boston Phoenix didn't have the gumption to even respond to me, despite the fact that I would have been VOLUNTEERING my services at their fine company. But you know what? I have a better idea - I'm going to learn how to play golf.
In my esteemed opinion, golf is the key to all aspects of business and it seems to me that my inability to play this age-old game is actually what is holding me back. Most business deals end up going down on the golf course, and many interviews surely take place there as well. As far as I can see, the fact that I cannot play golf is the only thing that is preventing me from becoming a success. Of the successful businessmen (or women) I know, 92 percent of them can shoot an 87 over 18 holes. Fine, I made that up, but you get the point.
This might seem like an easy problem for me to rectify... throw the clubs in the back of the old Camry and roll over to the local golf course, play a few holes and then apply for a job. Unfortunately, it's not quite that simple. I do not interact well with the golf club and the individuals who frequent golf courses do not accept me for the oddity of nature that I am.
Let's address the second point first. When you think of golfers, you think of classy guys. Khakis, dress shoes and a standard golf shirt. Unfortunately, I do not own any of the aformentioned pieces of equipment. I wear big baggy jeans or cargo pants, alternate between two pairs of sneakers, and I like to wear t-shirts, some of which have holes.
Additionally, I have been known to wear a silver chain, a backwards baseball cap, and once upon a time, an earing. Ostensibly, what I am saying is that if I come within 100 yards of a golf course during daylight hours, I will be arrested.
The closest I have ever been to playing on an actual golf course came during my weekends in high school when I would hit them up with my buddies. One time a police car actually drove onto the course and chased us.
Though it would be a good story, I don't think they were chasing me because of my sketchy attire. Rather, I'm pretty sure they were after us because we were trespassing on private property, after dark, with one hundred other teenagers. Making matters worse was the fact that we were all congregated around a keg.
Nevertheless, I'm sure that the same thing would have happened if we were actually at the course to play some golf.
Going back to the first point. Although I have never played on a real golf course, I have been to a driving range. During winter break I visited my grandparents in Coconut Creak, Florida where there was nobody my age in the entire complex.
Of course I enjoyed the time with my grandparents, but I had to escape the apartment now and again to avoid having my grandmother stuff me to the point where things could have gotten nasty (i.e. I explode). Evidently, my grandmother thinks that the way to show her love for me is by making me fat. So after eating a ten-course meal for breakfast, I would head off to the local driving range and hit balls until my hands bled before returning home for a ten-course lunch.
For all this bloodshed, one would think that I would have surely made some progress over the course of the week. Sadly, I have to report that after five days of golf, nearly 1000 balls hit, and more blisters than I cared to pop, my golf game actually regressed.
On day one I hit a few shots perhaps 150 yards, by day five I was having trouble hitting the freaking ball in the air.
In short, in my current state I would not be able to trick anybody into believing that I am a golfer. I think the companies to which I applied immediately sensed that I could not play golf. Outside of questionable choice in clothing, I have come to the conclusion that I simply don't carry myself like someone who knows how to play golf. Maybe it's my posture, maybe it's my pale skin that screams "Not a golfer." I'm not sure what the answer is. But these prospective employers just knew.
Therefore, I have concluded that in order to make myself a more desirable candidate for a job so that I don't get rejected from every position that I apply for upon graduation, I must devote this summer to learning how to play golf.
So, you, my faithful readers get to hear it first: I am done looking for an internship this summer. Instead, the summer of 2002 will from here on in be referred to only as BGDWLTPGTSEIIKH (By God Dan Will Learn to Play Golf This Summer Even if it Kills Him).
I am hopeful that my friends and relatives can fund this endeavor so I can fully devote myself to playing golf. If that does not work out, I will either work as a caddy or at a driving range (maybe picking up broken tees).
So now that you all know my summer plans, I just have to break the news to my parents. Here is a letter I've been working on.
Dear Mom and Dad:
Here's the deal. I know you love me but up until this point you have failed me. I don't know how to play golf and thus nobody wants to hire me. If you don't want me to end up living in your house for the rest of my life, I suggest you somehow help me learn to play golf. Just to let you know, it might get old 20 years from now when you are still yelling at me to clean my bedroom. So let's work together to try and avoid that unpleasant but very plausible scenario. Thanks in advance for your assistance.Your loving son,Daniel I'll let you all know how it goes.
