The 11th Hole
by Eric Suhem
Warren and his wife were
out to dinner at a swank restaurant. His wife was
talking about her dental work when Warren started
staring at the salad on his plate. The green
lettuce was shaped in a perfect concentric spiral,
with little ridges on the edges of the leaves. He
stared and stared at the spiral, falling under
its power, feeling hypnotized by the swirling
lettuce. Warren recently had been under
tremendous business pressures, and was trying to
figure out the meaning of his life, but had come
up with no answers.
The next day, Warren stood
on the 1st tee at the city’s new
municipal golf course, hoping that a round of
golf would take his mind off his troubles. After
10 holes, Warren and the rest of the foursome
arrived at the 11th hole, which was a
detour onto a miniature golf center next to the
municipal links, as the 11th hole on
the big course was under repair. There were blue
windmills, purple castles, and streams of water
amidst orange, red and green surfaces of
artificial turf.
The manager of the
miniature golf course was having an argument with
an inspector named Mel. “Something tells me
you aren’t following local regulations,”
smirked Mel knowingly, kicking at the putting
carpet, raising turf and objections. “Just
as I thought, a deficit of turf nails, leading to
an uneven surface, causing artificially lower
scores!” he declared, writing things down
feverishly in his inspection log with a little
pencil. Warren and the rest of the foursome did
not want to concern themselves with the squabbles
of the local miniature golf course, so they
completed their putts over the magenta carpets
through the windmills as soon as possible.
As they were leaving, to
return to the municipal golf course and the 12th
hole, the manager called out to Warren,
“Excuse me, sir, as you can see I’m
embroiled in a hailstorm of controversy, would
you mind helping me out, and collect the golf
balls from the orange castle?” Warren was
about to say no, but he saw that the manager was
in a bind, as people were waiting, some beginning
to wave their putters in a threatening manner.
“Yes, I can help you,” said Warren, as
the rest of his group moved on.
Warren collected golf balls
from the orange castle, and helped the manager
distribute putters, as the inspector Mel skulked
around, looking for further violations. Warren
also noticed that a blue windmill was rotating
too fast, so he used some tools from the manager
to fix it, thwarting Mel, who was about to write
up the windmill as being out of code but had to
relent. “Thank you, sir!” said the
grateful manager, as Warren left the miniature
golf course to return to the municipal links, and
Mel glowered resentfully.
The next day, Warren
returned to the blue windmills and orange castle,
getting a job at the surprisingly lucrative
miniature golf course, finding something
resembling peace of mind, though the inspector
Mel would prove to be a formidable nemesis in the
future.
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