T(shirt) Times
By Jon Maletz
Aspen, CO Colorado
I could feel the man behind the pro shop desk eyeing me the moment I walked through the Aspen Golf Club doors.
I went through a checklist in my head. My fly is zipped. The barbecue stain on my left trouser leg is barely noticeable. My shoes match. I’m ready to hit the driving range.
As the man handed me my credit card and two tokens, he paused for a moment, then spoke.
"If you don’t wear a collared shirt next time, you won’t be allowed on the range," he said.
I was apologetic and a bit red in the face. Apparently my unnassuming, plain gray long-sleeved crewneck shirt proclaimed my egregious lack of respect for the sanctity of the game and my fellow golfers. (I can only imagine how he would’ve reacted had I worn my mesh tank top.)
I came to my senses, however, as I passed a man wearing Wranglers and a Hawaiian shirt standing over a 10-footer on the practice green. OK, so he had a collar - the major prerequisite - but he looked like he was dressed for closing day at Aspen Highlands.
I, on the other hand, looked like I had just come from communion. It wasn’t as if I was wearing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt with a cigarette burn on the sleeve or footy pajamas. The outfit, one of my finest, could’ve passed the discriminating taste of my grandfather, who routinely spends entire homilies pointing out the heathens in the first row wearing dungarees.
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