My First Mentor

So, there I was, fresh out of school and filled with dreams of becoming a legendary club professional. I imagined myself inspiring golfers, leading tournaments, and maybe even competing in some pro events. Little did I know that my first boss, a dart-smoking, glizzy goblin (he ate microwave hotdogs most lunches) of a man named...let's call him "Gus", would turn my visions into a comedy sketch that even Andrew Santino would envy.

My first day on the job, Gus invited me to play a round of golf. I was excited, thinking this was my initiation into the world of professional golf. As we teed off, I was feeling pretty good—until he turned to me with a serious look and said, “Do you really want to spend your life doing this?” I paused mid practice swing, wondering if I had accidentally stepped into an episode of “The Twilight Zone.” Was he trying to scare me away? I mean, I had just graduated with a degree in golf management; this was my dream! But there he was, puffing away on a dart, looking like a character from a low-budget horror film, questioning my life choices. “Of course, I do!” I replied, trying to sound confident while secretly contemplating whether my life choices had been a lie. He just chuckled, “Well, just remember, the only thing that’s guaranteed in this job is that you’ll lose your personal life and be surrounded by a bunch of guys who think they’re better than they are.” Thanks for the pep talk, Gus!

As my days turned into weeks, my visions of working at a high-end country club and professionalism that went with it slowly faded. Gus had taught me his unique approach to organization, it was as if he learned these methods from an ancient book of club professional gospel, "How to Simply Get By". Any suggestions from members or lost and found contact information went into his “special filing cabinet.” I was naive and eager to help so I asked, "where is this cabinet located." He pointed to an overflowing trash can behind the Pro Shop counter (as if it was out of member view) and exclaimed “That’s it!” with a proud grin. “If it’s important, it’ll find its way back to me eventually.” I watched in horror as he tossed the contact information of an unsuspecting member into the "filing cabinet", the same member that he just expressed his concern and reassurance to. “What if someone comes looking for their stuff?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. “Let ‘em look! If they wanted it back, they should have kept better track of it,” he replied, before heading back to the cart barn to take another smoke break. I realized that in Gus’s world, the only thing more lost than the items our members were searching for was his sense of professionalism. On the bright side, Gus routinely had a new rangefinder and a seemingly endless supply of reading glasses.

As the weeks turned into months, I was privy to one of Gus’s favorite pastimes-slamming the Pro Shop doors in the backswings of people he didn't like. Every time a player would get ready to swing on the first tee, Gus would casually stroll over to the side doors of our Pro Shop (a perfect view of the tee with a fraction of the traffic) with that goblin esque look on his face trying to hold back his excitement. “Gus!” I shouted, horrified. “What are you doing!” “Oh, lighten up, kid! It’s all part of the experience!” he laughed, as if he was the star of his own production. The players would jump, clutching their clubs like they were about to face a charging bull. I couldn’t help but think that if golf were a sitcom, Gus would be the lovable (he really had a way with people, the same people that shanked it off the first due to his hijinks) yet chaotic character that everyone adored despite their better judgment. I mean, who else could turn a serene day on the golf course into a scene from National Lampoons?

So, there you have it—my first job as a club professional, guided by a mentor who was part goblin, part comedian, and all chaos. While this may not have provided the launch pad in becoming the legendary professional I envisioned, I did learn that sometimes, the best lessons come wrapped in laughter. Thanks to Gus, I now know that life as a club professional is not just about golf; it’s about embracing the absurdity, finding humor in the chaos, and maybe, just maybe, dodging a few slamming doors along the way. Cheers to the wild ride of the golf world!

The Anonymous Club Professional