Dr. Derm and I decided one year to play golf in Scotland. We had flown into the Glasgow airport. Once we retrieved our golf bags, our luggage, we headed straight over to the car rental area to pick up our car, which had the steering wheel on the wrong side. When Dr. Derm had mastered – first, the shifting by using his left hand, then the gas pedal with his left foot, the brake pad with his right foot, then finally getting somewhat comfortable about driving from the passenger side, all of which took about 1 ½ hours to master - we were finally off heading towards North Berwick. We were now driving on the M8 heading east to the Marine Hotel in North Berwick, with all that traffic being mirror reversed making me close my eyes and grip the door handle very tightly. When we arrived at the Marine Hotel, we checked in, went to our separate rooms to unpack our suitcases and then reunited in the main lobby area. Since it was only 3 PM, we decided to drive to the town of Dunbar to see if we could play 18 holes of golf before dinner. Sure enough, we were able to play the Dunbar golf course. We checked in with the pro, paid the daily fee and proceeded to the first tee which was right in front of the pro shop.
Unbeknownst to us you are supposed to tee off by the small square box placed on the teeing area. Dr. Derm and I did not know this, so we went to the very back of the tee box to play the course from the tips. We thought it was strange that we could not find any tee markers at the back of the teeing area figuring that the Scots were just too cheap to buy additional tee markers. Regardless, we teed it up and we are now off playing our very first round in Scotland.
After putting out on the fourth hole, we noticed a lone Scotsman dressed rather formally in tan knickers, high green Argyle socks, a white dress shirt, a rep tie, wearing a family dark plaid sweater, sporting a plaid tartan tammie Scottish cap playing extremely fast behind us. We figured he wanted to play through us to get home quickly or to go hit the pubs early. Boy, were we wrong.
We teed off again from the very back of the next tee box and just started to head down the fifth fairway, when this local Scotsman yelled at us to stop, which we did. He came up to us and proceeded to tell us that he was the club’s secretary and he wanted to know just who gave us permission to tee it up from the tips. Dr. Derm and I just looked at each other and I finally said, “No one. We just wanted to play this course from the tips and since there was no one in front of us and only you, who just came up rather quickly behind us, we didn’t think that it would be a problem for anyone.”
Well, the club’s secretary said that we could not do that. He told us that the only time you can play from the back tees, is if there was an inter-club competition going on. Since, we were not in an inter-club competition we had to go to the front of the teeing area where the small square box was located and that’s where we were supposed to be teeing it up from. He was very polite, dignified, authoritative, smartly dressed, and extremely arrogant, explaining that since no one advised us where to tee off from, he would now allow us to remain on the golf course. And then he said, “You two lads will now be playing the remainder of the holes from the correct tee markers or I will have to personally come back and shoot you both,” which we did.
That Scotsman was the most top drawer dresser that we ever met on that trip. I asked him if I could take his photo, but he would have absolutely none of that. With that, he was off as quickly as he came up upon us. I believe he thought that we were just a couple of dumb-ass Americans that he wanted no part of. I think he thought that we were carrying fleas or some other social disease that he might contract if he got too close to us.
That evening after dinner and some local pints of their best suds at the Marine Hotel, we decided to turn in around 10:30 PM. We both set our alarm clocks for 6:30 AM, thereby giving us enough time for a Scottish breakfast in the morning and then giving us ample time to head to the North Berwick golf course for our 8 AM tee off.
We both left our window drapes wide open, so that the morning sunlight would come dancing in on us, which it did. With the drapes wide open, both of us had a spectacular view of the third fairway. The North Sea hugged the same fairway with large waves of dark green ocean crushing upon the rocks and spilling onto the fairway. The sunlight was extremely bright and warm in early June as it danced across my face waking me up very abruptly. In a complete panic, I bolted out of the bed thinking that I had missed the tee time. I ran to take a fast shower, brushed my teeth, and shaved all with this sense of impending doom. For some strange unexplained reason as I was putting on my slacks, it dawned on me that my alarm clock did not go off. I wondered why? Was it broken, were the batteries dead, or did I set it incorrectly? I had no idea. I went over to the alarm clock and saw that the time was displaying 3:30 AM. In total disbelief I then checked my wristwatch, which also confirmed that it was 3:30 AM. Then the light switch came on in the attic. The sun rises extremely early in Scotland in June and sets rather late around 10 PM at night. Feeling completely stupid, I went back to bed and tried to get several more hours of sleep, which was almost impossible to do. When I did meet Dr. Derm for breakfast at around 7 AM, I had to confess to him my stupidity. What do you think Dr. Derm said to me? He did the same exact thing at 4 AM in the morning. Boy, talk about a couple of complete rookies.
As Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity,” and both of us were guilty of that. We never made that mistake again in Scotland.
