There’s a golf course right next to the road on the way to my EMS job–which is also the way Mom and I usually go to get groceries.

Now, I don’t know if the golf course was there first or the road; but either way it represents bad planning. There is no fence of any kind to contain stray golf balls and the road curves around half the perimeter of the course. In other words: no matter which way you’re going, you are usually starring some golfer in the face as he swings, praying he has good aim. Despite all of the above, I’ve never heard of a car being struck by a golf ball. But still, I was never convinced of the safety, forethought or any other kind of thought that went into the location of that course.

Last week I was proven correct. Last week Mom and I were coming home after a long grocery shopping event and were rounding the final curve that borders the course. . .when we both happened to look up. Up in the sky, way above us a golf ball was at the highest point of its arc and beginning its return trip to earth. Unfortunately, our car stood in its way. Breaks were slammed, horns were honked, many a choice word were uttered and by the grace of God and Mom’s quick reflexes, said ball missed us by less than three feet.

Back on the course, a fat man in a pink shirt simply stood there, golf club over his shoulder and a sort of half-hearted “Oops” on his face. Might I suggest that if you almost hit a moving motor vehicle with a horrendously ill-aimed attempt at golf, the look on your face ought to be closer to fear or horror than “Oops, oh well”?

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