Dream 7.14.07

Yesterday was my dad's birthday.
So in my dream, it was also my dad's birthday. I decided to take him golfing. My stepmom and little sister also came along though they do not golf, but they wanted to spend time with Dad.

We went to this new upscale golf course. The place was packed. Obviously it was very popular... and very expensive. At the only counter - I don't remember waiting in any line - we could order pretty much anything you would find a pro shop, or a bar. Naturally we needed:
a tee time for two,
golf balls,
lunch,
a membership (I think,)
two golf bag strollers because there was no way golf carts could drive this course - I'm pretty sure there was an elevator somewhere -
and two kegs... which could be carried on the strollers. (I guess we were thirsty.)
Unfortunately because this place was so new and fancy, the bill totaled over $600. I put it on my credit card. I don't how it went through because my credit card is overdrawn right now, but... over $600.

The first tee was on the close side of the building on the second floor. By the time we hiked up to it, the line at the counter ran outside, and a line had hiked up behind us at the tee. I looked out across the course.

It was like nothing you've ever seen before. It was indoors in a massive warehouse-sized complex. This place was bigger than a WalMart. Each hole was corridored off from the others by ceiling-high nets and plexiglas walls. Arranged in a maze, the holes wound around corners where the doglegs were more like U-turns. Golfers were banking shots off of walls. Some holes overlapped others above or below as each seemed to move up or down multiple floors. This strange course reminded me of an uncanny mixture of an indoor driving range, a mini-golf course, and a carnival fun house, but on a much larger scale.

My dad and his new clubs were already prepared to tee off. And as he took his first swing, I was still trying to strap the keg and my bag onto the stroller. People waiting behind us began to heckle. While I tried to hurry faster, they only grew more impatient. My dad had banked his first shot around the corner and onto the floor below, so he offered to go ahead and play the rest of the hole while I was catching up. We could play back together on the second hole. He, stepmom, and Racheal walked downstairs.

Meanwhile - this is where things get worse, not better - I thought I had strapped everything in properly. I looked for my driver, but my clubs are an incomplete set and some of them get misplaced once in a while. The driver was gone. I could've borrowed one of my dad's, but he had gone ahead. 'Come on,' people continued to harass me. The line was building. And the counter attendants were peering up the hill (or corridor, or incline, whatever.) I just grabbed a club, dropped my ball, and swung. I topped the ball. It bounced between the walls a bit. I dropped another. I swung again. I missed. Then the keg and my bag fell off the stroller. People were getting loud. I started to look for my family, but I didn't see them.

As I tried to pick up my things and pack them onto the stroller, a couple golfers jumped in front of me. They teed off, and the line gradually edged me against the wall. I threw my bag over my shoulder and pulled the keg along on the stroller. (I'm pretty sure I left a club behind.)

I took off cutting across fairways wandering throughout the second floor. I began calling for my dad who was forced to continue playing without me. I felt like a little boy lost in an amusement park. Here I am standing in the center of this maze that is some insane golfing complex looking for my family because we've been separated. I spun searching in every direction, but saw no one I recognized. I could hear only golf balls flying by. The passing golfers ignored me as they played through. I sat down and started to cry...

I had tried to do something nice for my dad and my family. I had found this amazing new adventure. I paid for a very expensive outing, which I had not even been a part of yet, and it was coming closer to an end with each passing minute. Watching the feet of each passing golfer felt like clubs swinging against my chest.

I got hit in the ribs with a golf ball. No one bothered to yell 'Fore.' I staggered to my feet, and started down the path to the front counter. At the bottom of the hill, my dad had just arrived up front as well. He was looking for me at the counter asking if they had seen me. I came up beside him. I tried to explain what happened, but I was still shaken. I didn't need to; he understood.

We gave the owners (or managers, or counterpersons, whatever) some hassle over the trouble we had. They tried to give us trouble back. But in the end we gave them their kegs, they gave us our money back, and we played through... from the fifth hole where my dad had stopped golfer traffic in order to find me.