Crazy Old Ladies

Two stories here; one from yesterday, one from today.

1. Our trailer can't fit in the very exclusive entranceway to the Steelwood community, which is basically a ghost town anyway these days. It won't be soon, when the players and their families come to town, but for now, the ivy and vines winding over the archway next to the entrance house are the only company the old, graying woman inside has all day. So naturally when I came running up to her door, not in a vehicle, while she was on the phone, she was caught off-guard. I asked if she could open the exit gate so the truck and trailer could come through there because we don't fit. She kindly told me that because she was on the phone, I would have to go stop traffic myself. So I went to tell the truck that I would guide them through. Meanwhile, she finished her conversation and came out, telling us to go in directions I didn't know had an entrance to the course, but I sent the truck in that direction because she pointed there. She came running after me, yelling about how she told me to have the truck come through and how she "has tons of cars backed up over here! I told you to stop traffic!" So I got the truck through, only to find three lonely cars waiting with her on the other side. Yep, tons of cars here in Loxley, Alabama. But, needless to say, the drama she threw in to direct us around the house was so much that I sent the truck in the wrong direction, yet another sign that the poor woman sitting in the gatehouse does not have enough to do these days and wastes her energy on hand motions that make no sense to people from out of town. So today when we went through and I took one for the team again by going up to the house to ask for the exit gate to open I was very relieved to find the nicest older man I've met yet, who just pushed the open button and let me work my magic. In less than twenty seconds I had thanked him, gave the truck the thumbs up, ran to the other side to stop the hordes of people I knew we would inevitably meet (TONS! Oh wait, zero.), and hopped back into my seat to ride to Headquarters. Phew, what a tough job.

2. Yesterday we were told that black snakes are good, brown snakes are bad. Today I decided to try a painting techniques of the Tournament Assistant who runs along with the paint gun to have a straighter line and to get it done faster. One second I was running along, carefree, all alone on the left side of the 11th and the next I was yelling over the radio to poor Aaron, the Indiana Jones snake-fearer in our group that I had spotted the first brown snake of the tournament and that they DO exist. Might have been a rattler, I'm pretty sure. I'm alive, but we'll see who doesn't make it through the week...