Page Morris sees golf courses backwards. “It looks strange when I actually drive from tee to green,” she says. It’s her job to drive against traffic, so you can see her smile and promise of satiation 400 yards away.
Here’s the next thing to know: Page is it. The only “it” for 18 holes, delivering drinks at The Oconee course as quickly and as discreetly as she can. Do not think she’s out for a random drive in the beverage cart either. She studies printouts on a clipboard so that by the time her cart hits the path, she knows everything about you — where you’re likely to be at any given time, whether you’re a Member of Reynolds or a guest at The Ritz-Carlton, playing with or without a caddie. Page also knows the hourly forecast. She plans her day the way football coaches plan practice.
“We’ll probably see someone on the number- 7 fairway,” she casually announces before driving around a few curves and over a hill. Sure enough, two guys are lining up their second shots right where she knew they’d be.
“I’ve met people from Dubai, China, Australia, everywhere. They all know who I am … or at least what I am.”
She is the thirst quencher. The celebration deliverer. The girl you’ve been waiting for. Which makes it a little uncomfortable when a trainee like me is bumming along in her cart, pretty much destroying her mojo.
“On a busy day, players might only see the beverage cart one time per round,” says Oconee Golf Pro Ian Milhouse. “So I advise them to stock up just in case.”
Open up the cart cooler and fix your eyes on a perfect pattern of 85 beers, 40 sodas, and 40 Powerades. Above them, tiny liquor bottles are lined up like toy soldiers. But being the beverage cart girl takes more than organization. It takes patience. Yes, Page has to drive slowly to minimize the cart’s engine noise. But she also has to grin and bear it when someone asks her to go back to the bar for some Grey Goose. Or when the amateur comedian cruises by and says, “I’ll have two eggs and a side of bacon.”
The person in the beverage cart is trained to read body language (a player with a head sticking straight up in the beagle pose is saying, “I’m thirsty”) and sign language (a byebye wave means “No thanks”) to keep from disturbing play.
The day gets long when it’s just a sea of bye-bye waves. So Page stashes a book in the cart for times, well, like this one. Page tells me she’s lived at Reynolds with her mother, brother, and grandparents since 2010. She brings her own sparkling soda to drink in the cart. Wait … a foursome is in the beagle pose. Page tells me to go to work.
I get out of the cart and take orders, fumbling pinkie-size Smirnoffs and accidentally pouring Page’s sparkling water into a cup. A guy asks: “Are you in training?” He’s joking.
“Actually, yes.” I’m not joking.
Page comes to the rescue, earning a nice tip and the best reward of all. “My favorite is when they return a smile.”
The players have a little more bounce in their steps as they walk back to their carts, carrying drinks like children holding popsicles from the ice-cream lady. Page drives away, against traffic, smiling and looking for the next group needing cups of joy.
