Being jumped in my own place of employment by a group of drunk golfers wasn’t on my bingo card for the day, yet here I am all the same, facing clubs and fists. All because I wouldn’t let them humiliate my employees and humiliated them instead – by being better at golf.
If they were sober, they would probably realize how asinine this all is. When they sober up later, they might even apologize. I won’t be inclined to accept that apology, no matter how this plays out.
“Gentleman,” I say. “If you could please calm yourselves. We can talk this through.”
I’m not a fighter, never have been. My father taught me to use my words over my fists to get me out of most situations. Usually, it works. This time, however…
The hatred burns in the four rude guests that surround me. Gripping the clubs tigh
