It started with A New Poop, and then The Burrito Strikes Back. Now we have the end of the trilogy. And it is back with my former employers yet again. Every year the team I worked for would hold a golf tournament. It was a pretty big deal, as it was the only event I remember being an easy sell. Mostly because it was just unlimited beer and golf. A lot of the employees got to play also, though not me since I was a lowly intern. I was supposed to be working. In this case I was supposed to be...Well, I don't actually remember. What I do remember was heavily drinking with the dance team girls. Yes, this was a minor league baseball team with dance girls.
That's not really important though, but it does bring back fond memories. Also included in the festivities were players currently on the team. Mind you, these guys were just barely in their twenties, stuck in single A baseball in inland California. Naturally, it was a shit show. Everyone was pretty heavily intoxicated, had been drinking since about 9 AM, and it was rather hot day out. It was a great idea to include golf carts in the mix.
Now there was a certain young man there, who at the time, was a long shot to ever make it to the Major League. Sure enough, he is now on the Angels. For the sake of narration, he'll be referred to as Chunkles. Back at this golf tournament however, Chunkles was drunk as hell erratically flooring his golf cart over every hill he could find. Later in the evening, he drove it head on into a wooden fence. The cart's front was pretty well smashed up and the fence was no longer standing. Chunkles tried to calmly leave the scene, but was stopped by a clubhouse attendant.
"What happened to the fence?"
Chunkles was unaware of any fence.
"The fence that I saw you drive into."
"I saw you drive the cart into the fence.
Not according to Chunkles.
"Yeah, you did. I was standing twenty feet away. I saw the whole thing.
Chunkles laughed. Okay, yeah. It was him. He patted the attendant on the back and strolled off.
Later that night, there was dinner, raffles, and all that other crap that goes along with these sort of events. Chunkles wasn't feeling to hot, and was asleep over his mashed potatoes. Occasionally he would wake up and clap, though his timing varied wildly as he accidentally interrupted a few speeches with sudden applause. Eventually, one of his teammates decided it was good time to get Chunkles out of there. Chunkles loudly announced his desire to use the bathroom, and departed to the back of the hall.
A little while later, one my coworkers, Jenga (from the aforementioned tale), ran back from the bathrooms. While most of the staff were eating, he eagerly shared his findings from the bathroom, which he had recorded on his phone's camera. A large pair of underwear, discarded in the corner of a stall, covered in shit. Chunkles was nowhere to be found. For a while, everyone figured Jenga just crapped himself and took photos of it, seeing as he took photos of dumps he would take. He was adamant it wasn't him because he never wore underwear, a fact no one really could disprove. By the end of the evening, no one actually mentioned the shitty underwear in the bathroom stall, yet close to everyone was keenly aware of it.
The clubhouse attendants eventually had to go clean it up, and now Chunkles is a fixture on the Angels. Sort of like how the Dallas Stars are left over shit covered drawers that is now the Central division's problem. Have fun with that, guys.