The Golf Course

Not only is it a home for the coyotes, deer, and my sister's runaway bunny, R.I.P. B-Bop Mac Dre, but it is basically right where I live too. Its steep and slender grass hills are great qualities for ice blocking, frisbee, and throwing tennis balls for my dogs...and golf too, I guess. I have yet to ice block, but it is on my to-do list before I move back to the city. Every now and then I will play the course with my dad, but I live for the golf carts; I love golf carts, except for the one incident that happened 2 years back when my family and I visited my grandparents in the Villages over Thanksgiving break. My sister and I decided to take a little drive in my grandparents' golf cart, since that is the only thing people drive nowadays in Florida, and I wanted to be the driver. As we approached a tunnel, at 5 mph, another cart was coming our way. I freaked out and slammed into the tunnel wall; my sister fell out, I crashed into the other cart, one of my cart's hub-caps fell off, and my sister almost dislocated her shoulder. I don't understand why, but this is why I am not allowed to drive golf carts anymore.
Similarly at the tennis club, I also face discrimination from the adults at the golf course. This gold course is public, not that amazing, and it is full of middle aged men trying to play golf while drinking a beer with a cigarette in hand. Yet, when I show up to play with my nice set of clubs in my keds, the guy tells me I am not allowed to play because I don't have golf shoes on. Doesn't make sense to me.