No Good Deed goes Unpunished...

I'm still not sure that I really understand the old saying that captions this post, but what I suffered yesterday, at the hands of a good deed, seems to fit the bill.

A friend, Big T, left his jacket in a golf cart a week ago Wednesday. This was at Eagle Glen, in Corona, after our weekly Wednesday golf match. )n Tuesday, when he was getting ready for yesterday's game, he discovered his loss. He called Eagle Glen and the lost & found department had his jacket. So yesterday, knowing that I'm on the road a lot, Big T asked me to stop by Eagle Glen the next time I was in the vicinity. It just so happened that I was heading for Lake Elsinore after yesterday's game, in San Bernardino. So I magnanimously said I'd do it that very day.

Here's his description of the jacket, "It's green, with a red tartan lining." Now when I hear "tartan" I think Scotland and the clans and kilts... Wouldn't you?

So I get to Eagle Glen and I strut into the pro shop (I'm strutting because in this particular weekly game, our team had won $7.50 each from Big T's team.) Obviously sensing my golfing superiority, the Pro in the Shop asked how he could help me. I described the nature of my visit.

He dutifully began a search. He searched everywhere, with me behind him. Finally he found someone who remembered talking to Big T. That worthy gentleman went down to the cart barn and returned with a jacket.


"Is this the jacket," he asked.

"Looks like it..." I said, my voice trailing off, as it ought to when you are eliding. And I was eliding to beat the band. Because I could sense the change in atmosphere. I was no longer an esteemed, valued guest.

"Well, sir," he said, "This coat is green, but I hardly call the lining a red tartan..."

I gave it a good looking over, stalling for time. I had broken into a slight sweat. What they thought of the sudden sheen coating my forehead can only be conjectured, but the Pro in the Shop was edging towards the phone.

"No," I said, with a firmness in my voice denoting a hard decision finally arrived at, "This is a paisley lining!"

The two men, who now seemed to be looming over me, looked at each other. "Yes," said the Pro in the Shop, "This is most certainly paisley. Not tartan, but paisley."

"Oh, I quite agree. But I'm sure that a quick phone call to Big T will straighten this out." Trying to remain calm, I pulled out my cell phone and found Big T on the speed dial list and punched the button. After just one ring, Big T answered.

"Hello, Bert..."

I smiled at the two loomers. "Heh, heh...that's me, Bert..." Which was a stupid thing to say because the two guys couldn't hear him. So I plowed ahead. "Hey, Tony, I'm here at Eagle Glen, and they may have your coat. I say 'may' because there's a problem..."

The Pro in the Shop interrupted to ask me if my phone had a speaker function, and that if it did, to put the call on speaker. In my fumbling, I disconnected. Now I was really sweating. I've been in jail, and just like this was developing, it was because of a misunderstanding, and it's not something I wished to repeat. I got Big T back on the phone and put him on speaker.

The Pro in the Shop immediately took over. "Sir, did you call yesterday to ask about a jacket?"

Big T's voice, all tinny from the low power speaker, and his own internal tinnyness, answered. "Yes, I called yesterday. I think I spoke with John, in lost & found, and he..."

"That's all good and well, sir, but could you describe the jacket?"

"Yeah, it's green, with a red tartan lining." My chin hit my chest. Panic was beginning to set in. It was all over now. They'd be calling the cops any second. I wondered about making a run for it, but after the 27 holes we'd played, and them being young and in shape, I didn't think it was the thing to do.

"Sir, the coat we have here is green, all right, but it doesn't have a red tartan lining." The tone of his voice implied a proper sussing out of evil doing.

"Well, it's that swirly thing that's like something psychedelic, you know..."

"Swirly? How do yo mean?" From the way this question oozed out of the Pro in the Shop, you knew he was toying with Big T. In my mind I was screaming, 'Say paisley, you big dummy, say paisley!!'

"You know, that swirly kind of random pattering. Hey, Margie, what do you call that swirly pattern stuff that's all psychedelic?" There was a response that we couldn't hear. "Oh yeah, thanks. It's paisley."

My whole body snapped to attention. "I'll take that jacket. Thanks for your help." I ripped it out of the hands of the Pro in the Shop and walked sedately, but proudly, back to my car.

Tartan... What a doofus!