That Time A Driving Range Fired Back at Me

“Woah, look out!” the lady yelled as a golf ball hit once on the ground and hit me at high speed.

I’ve been to driving ranges thousands of times over my 37 years on this planet. Tonight was the first time one fired back at me.

Somehow a golf ball flew into my station on the upper deck of a two-level hitting area. Her husband said, “What happened?”

She pointed at me, “He just got hit by a ball.”

“What?” he said. “How? From where?”

“Maybe from over there?” I said, rubbing my chest, pointing at the line of golfers on a perpendicular line far on the side.

“That would be a hell of a banana slice,” he laughed.

I looked over the edge. Big lights on the ground facing away from us lit up the range area. A board ran along the base of the box. “Maybe somebody below misfired and it rocketed up here,” I said.

“That makes more sense,” he said. “Either way, I’d check your insurance when you get home.”