The place: A ritzy country club

The scenario: I am attempting to photograph golf, a game I have NEVER understood, cared about or even attempted to learn about for fear I might have to cover it one day. Sorry, golfer bloggy friends. I only know horror stories about golfers yelling at photographers about snapping photos as they tee off.

The following conversation ensues.

“Am I going to be distracting y’all if I stand over here? I don’t want to be in the way.”

They all say, “No, no! You’re fine! We’re out here to have fun, and you can go wherever. It won’t distract us one bit.”

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m good as long as you don’t touch me when I’m golfing,” the college golfer states. “That would throw off my concentration.”

I nod, understanding what he means.

How did I choose to respond to his statement?

“You have nothing to worry about. I wouldn’t touch you when you’re golfing.”

Fail. A complete and utter fail.

As soon as those words flew out of my mouth, ‘ohmygoodnessicannotbelieveisaidthatholyshit!‘ ran through my brain. In that order.

One of the other golfers takes the set up in style and asks, “Only when he’s golfing?”

I recover relatively smoothly with, “Especially when he’s golfing! I don’t want to get hit with a club or something!”

We all laughed and moved on to the next hole, leaving that awkward snippet behind.

Cons: I was mortified. The golfers thought I wanted to touch that guy. They still might think that. (I sincerely hope not.)

Pros: They were still nice to me. They all remembered my name.