Robert Randall Photography

In 1996, I came so close to qualifying for the US Open… no silly, not the tennis one, the golf one. But a family crisis intervened and I had to give up my dream for more serious matters. Now, 14 years later, and mostly because of that nefarious wife of mine, I find myself with another opportunity to pursue my dream; this spring I will be competing in the local qualifier round of the US Open.

I don’t really expect to win, although sometimes my mind wanders at the potential a victory would bring. Can you imagine the media furor over some unknown 50 something schlep winning golf’s most prestigious tournament? And Phil Knight over at Nike would probably foam at the mouth just thinking about the marketing angles he could brew up with a quinquagenarian winner. See, my mind just wandered again!

Anyhow, part of the process involves hitting a lot of golf balls, and I average about 500 balls per day. Since I live in Chicago, good weather doesn’t come easy this time of year, but hitting inside weather proof domes doesn’t give you much feel for ball flight. The alternative is hitting into snow from the somewhat rickety shelter offered at my favorite common man golf-training center. Some days, because it’s so cold and snowy, I’m the only guy stupid enough to even attempt to hit balls out there. Other days, like today when it got up to 45 degrees, the fair weather lightweight wannabes, with swings straight out of a Fuseli nightmare, will show up and act like they own the place.

Up until now, very few people knew of my passion for the game, or my desire to attempt what few would ever try, but I figure even if I blow up on the course and make a fool of myself, I can still say I tried. I think deep down, most people are afraid of failure, and that stops them from attempting what they just might succeed at. Knowing I might be afraid is all the motivation I need to make me try, and I still have 3 months to shave off those last two strokes on my handicap.

And then there is that nefarious wife I mentioned… if anyone could shake Tiger out of his game, it would definitely be her!

I do a lot of things simply because they are fun or interesting, which includes doing my own laundry. I suppose I could have my laundry picked up by a service, or drop it off and have some one else take care of it, but I prefer to do it myself. It usually takes me about two hours, and I use the time to meet new friends, observe customs, and form opinions based on observations. It’s a difficult process meeting new friends in a Laundromat, mostly because everyone is trained to be on guard at all times.

The Laundromat I use is in an ethnically diverse area of Chicago. On any given day I might be the only white person in the building. That by itself is an interesting aspect of the chore; I get to understand what it might be like for a minority person to be alone in a completely white environment. A less traveled person might find the experience uncomfortable, but I’ve found it to be rewarding because the people are so diverse and interesting.

The people that come to the Laundromat are loud and full of life, or quiet and reflective, or brooding and sinister. The kids play like they own the place, and maybe for a few hours they actually do. Girls just barely old enough to blow their own noses are chaperoning siblings or children of their own. Old men shuffle down aisle ways while their families keep a watchful eye on them. Old women, beaten down by the trials of life, stoop to their tasks next to perky young things just beginning their trek into responsibility. It’s a kaleidoscope of life, and it’s great fun to participate.

Unfortunately, the people in the Laundromat are very camera shy. Some feel it’s an intrusion, others are afraid I’m from Immigration, and the gang bangers… well I think you can understand why they don’t want me taking their picture. So I use my iPhone to take pictures of innocuous stuff. Still, when they see me pointing that thing anywhere near them, I get the beat down stare. But, at least when you see me you’ll know I’m wearing clean underwear!