The Deafening Sounds of a Pro Shop

Ready to embark on another thrilling journey as a club professional, at one of the top clubs in the country, I was poised with experience, ready to finally leave the antics of my previous roles behind me. I envisioned myself mingling with members, sharing laughs (professionally of course), and maybe even getting some praise here and there (what my previous piece covered). Little did I know, I was about to step into a parallel universe of acceptable social interactions. Yes, folks, I was about to work in a Pro Shop where the only thing louder than the price tags was the ceiling fan.

Upon my first day, I was greeted by my boss and co-workers, who, to my surprise, had mastered the art of non-verbal communication. I’m talking about a level of silence that would make a library feel like a rock concert. As I stood there, trying to muster a cheerful “Hello!”, I was met with a nod and the kind of stare that could freeze a polar bear in its tracks. You might think this is an exaggeration, but I assure you, the only sounds in the Pro Shop were the occasional clicks of a mouse (a computer mouse, honestly a real mouse would have been louder) and the echo of my own thoughts. I half-expected to see a sign that read, “Welcome to the Silent Club: Where Words Are Optional.”

Now, you might be wondering, “What about the TV?” Ah, yes, the TV! It was on mute, of course. Because nothing says “welcome to our club” like watching Asian LPGA reruns without any commentary. I found myself lost for words and looking for a conversation point-squinting at the screen, trying to decipher the game and come up with a quick quip to break to the ice. Who was that? A bogey? A birdie? Who knows! All I could hear was the sound of my own internal monologue, which, let me tell you, is not as entertaining as it sounds (as a reader you are aware). And let’s not forget the absence of music. The Pro Shop was the size of Walmart, and it echoed with the kind of silence that makes you question your life choices (for a third time as this was my third club). I could hear my own heartbeat, and I’m pretty sure it was in sync with the ticking clock on the wall. If awkward silence were an Olympic sport, we would have taken home the gold. And lets not forget this was Day 1, my intro to the team I would be spending the year with!

Despite the eerie quiet, I still had to put on a cheerful face for the members. Picture this: me, standing there with a smile that could rival Chuckie Cheese, while my brain screamed, “Help! I’m trapped in a Charlie Chaplin movie!” I tried to engage in small talk, but my attempts were met with blank stares and the occasional shrug of "the new guy will figure out what we are about". It was like trying to start a conversation with a brick wall—only the wall was more responsive. The members would come in, and I’d greet them with enthusiasm, only to be met with a nod and a quick dash to the merchandise. It felt like I was trying to sell golf clubs to a bunch of mimes. “Would you like to try out this driver?” I’d ask, only to be answered with a silent thumbs-up. It was simply how this membership had been trained over the years of unresponsive club professionals and the acceptance that this was the norm (at a Top-15 Club in the Country!).

So, what am I getting at? Well, it turns out that the club professionals you come to love are not always who they seem. Behind the polished smiles and perfectly pressed uniforms, there might be a team of people who communicate primarily through nods and awkward glances. In the end, I learned that sometimes, the best conversations happen in silence. And while I may have left the Silent Club with a few less social skills than I arrived with, I gained a newfound appreciation for the power of a good, old-fashioned chat. So, if you ever find yourself in a Pro Shop where the only sound is the echo of your own thoughts, just remember: you’re not alone and do not strike up a conversation with the smiley yet silent Pro Shop attendant, they want no part of your stories as to how an 86 should have been a 76.

The Anonymous Club Professional