God's Judgment on the Multinationals

Hello! As I believe I mentioned, I am back from Galveston and full of stories (more or less). The title of this post is a chapter (which I did not read) from another book on liberation theology (which I did earlier today). I think it is fairly amusing. These liberation theologians mean well, I know, but they beat a dead horse better than any other kind of theologian that I know. Well, here is the first story that I promised.

We stayed with a friend of my mom's who has a timeshare condo down on the beach of the Great and Glorious Gulf of Mexico. Now, we are already disposed, at this point in the story (the second day of our stay)to be displeased with the good people of the Silverleaf resorts because of the stories that our friend Jan has told us of their atrocities. They employ high-pressure sales tactics to entrap potential buyers and scare the life out of them till they have no choice but to buy. Their smooth talking ways have pulled the wool over the eyes of many an unwary consumer who realized only too late that they were being given the runaround. Well, then when Jan went to listen to one of their seminar spiels, having been promised 100 dollars if she would come, was then given only 50 dollars because they said they hadn't realized that she had not driven down exclusively for the seminar. Imagine! We were much incensed, having heard of these manifold travesties, but nothing could prepare us for what lay ahead.

We had planned on playing an innocent game of minature golf on the condo's facilities. We forayed out one evening after a dip in the pool, hoping that the water would keep us cool while we played. It did that, but I think it also managed to attract every single mosquito in the Greater Harris County area. So there we are slapping away through our first eight holes until someone says lamentingly, "I wish we had some kind of mosquito repellent." To which Mom suddenly replies, "Oh, we do, it's over in the swim bag!" Said swim bag had been sitting over a few yards from the golf course the entire time, so we all felt quite foolish. But I digress, this, although amusing, obviously has nothing to do with the depredations of Silverleaf Resorts.

So there we are, putting away to our hearts content, most of us (being me, my sister, my mom, and my mom's friend's daughter) being pretty darn bad at the game. Then, of a sudden, we reached the dreaded 10th hole! !!!*bum ba bum*!!! Well the construction of this particular hole was remarkably challenging because it backed right up to a little pond, and the hole was at the top of the green butting right up against the side of the pond. So, undaunted, I lined up my shot, right around the curve racing up the green and heading right for the wall where it would ricochet back and into the hole for a perfect shot, a hole in one. At least, that was the intention. What really happened is that the ball hit the back wall, flew up into the air and, ploink!, into the pond. Oh bother. Now, before you laugh too hard, you must realize that the wall of this hole was so poorly constructed as to practically shoot the ball into the pond for you. You know how most holes have a little raised wall around the green to keep the ball in? This one was made of concrete, raised only about a half an inch above the green, intended to look like natural rock, so it sloped right down into the water. We should have been wary after this obvious set-up, but being of a trusting and naive nature, I thought nothing of it and volunteered immediately to go to the rec center for a new ball.

Off I tromped, only to be brusquely informed at the counter that I needed to give him a dollar for a new ball. I replied almost as curtly that I didn't have dollar and high-tailed it away again. Upon returning, sans ball, I explained with much indignation about the dollar. The indignation was obviously contagious, and soon everyone was up-in-arms over this outrage. Clearly these brigands had designed the hole in such a way as to suck in stray golf balls into the depths of the murky green, stinking water so they could claim a dollar and claim a profit on an otherwise profitless course. Belive it or not, while we were able to sit by in the face of all the other atrocities, this was the straw that broke the camel's back. We resolved, of one mind, that we were not going to pay that dollar.

Into the stinky pond we plunged our four clubs, scraping along the bottom through the muck in search of a golf ball, any golf ball, that could be successfully brought to the surface. There were a number that we could feel on the bottom, but none of them could be dragged up with the narrow heads of the clubs. All the time that we were trying, other folks were passing by, trying to play their game. We looked pretty silly there in everybody's way. But it all payed off when Mom finally managed to fish a yellow golf ball (mine had been purple) out of the pond. In triumph we marched back to the counter and slammed our balls down on the table. The man looked questioningly at me until my mom interjected, "There they are, we have four balls." And he checked them in, fine free. As we walked away, someone suggested that we go back and dig more balls out of the pond to see if they would give us a dollar for each one that we returned. And yes, we didn't get past the tenth hole. No one really felt like playing anymore golf that night.

No more golf tonight either, I'm afraid.
Goodnight, all,
S.