#7 – The Faux Phone Ring
It was about this time 50 weeks ago. My friend Bryan and I were slinging our chairs over our shoulders preparing to walk out of the prettiest golf course on Earth (Augusta National) on Easter Sunday. We had set up camp on hole #16 and watched every last group come through on their way to the finish.
Kenny Perry had a 2-stroke lead after he came through our hole so we thought he would wrap the tournament and claim his first green jacket. On a whim, though, I said to Bryan “let’s head over to hole #10, you know, just in case.”
See, if there’s a playoff at The Masters the competitors start at hole #10 and play to a sudden death. Even though we were exhausted from a weekend of watching golf in the sun (another major white people problem) we trudged over the flower-laden course and set up camp at #10.
And wouldn’t you know it, Kenny Perry choked away his lead and a playoff ensued. We’re sitting there (with pretty good seats) discussing our Masters purchases for the weekend (lots of white people clothing) and a middle-aged guy in front of us strikes up conversation.
We’re talking white people stuff (what else do you talk about when you’re getting ready to watch the final hole of a major golf tournament?) and he brings up the Augusta phone issue. At The Masters if you get caught with a cell phone they throw you off the course and take your badges away. For some white people it’s too much to go 24 hours without a cellular device so they sell their Masters tickets for thousands of dollars. That’s a white people predicament.
Anyway middle-aged-semi-drunk gentleman keeps going on about what a pain it’s been to be without his Blackberry when he posed a curious question. “Hey, do you guys ever feel like your phone is ringing even though you know you don’t have it with you?” Bryan and I looked at each other nervously as if he were about to strike us over the head with a Masters wine glass he got from the Masters merchandise tent.
He continued, slightly perturbed at our silence, “I’m serious man, it’s killing me, I reach for my phone every 10 or 15 seconds because it feels like it’s vibrating, you don’t?”
At this point I was terrified to say anything, especially because I knew exactly what he was talking about. Thankfully about 20 seconds later the golfers teed off and we moved on to more important white people problems like feeling sorry for the Augusta National members who paid 4-figure sums of money to have little children run their seats to the eighteenth green in hopes of seeing the end of the tournament.
Sorry very-wealthy-green-jacket-wearing-champagne-sipping Augusta National member. Maybe this year. Oh and keep an eye on the Blackberry guy, something tells me he’s going to try and sneak one in this year.
