Another day at the `Club'

The old vascular surgeon left his shoes for me to clean while I bagged for a foursome this morning. The group consisted of an orthopedic surgeon, a dentist, a chiropractor and a DPM.
It was early and I was tending the pin on the fourth hole of a par five when someone let out a grueling sputter of flatulance. The other caddy looked over at me and we sort of chuckled, but there was that forced hush of silence when the winds died down and the golfers looked at each other in that "Who dunnit," sort of way.
The orthopedist snapped off his cap and tossed it on the ground. "This could have ruined my put."
The Chiropractor said: "My wife made beans last night and if something slipped out, I'm sorry."
The dentist shook his head from side to side slowly and had me withdraw his putter. "Its just natural he said.
The DPM had me remove his driver from his bag. He teed up on the green and drove a ball nearly seventy yards or so.
"Why'd you do that?" The chiropractor asked.
"Because I have privelages here."

Back at the locker room I was cleaning the old vascular sugeon's shoes when the DPM came in. He was very angry. I didn't look at him very long, I just went back to getting the mud out of the cleats. The DPM started cursing at me for being a bimmy, shining shoes for people-as if what I did wasn't good enough.
I slowly raised my eyes and ran my hand through my hair. "Sir," I said.
"What is it looser? Don't you know who I am?"
"No." I said.
"I am Doctor Buddy (deleted)"
"What kinda doc are you, sir?" I stood up slowly. The old vascular surgeon's shoe was still in my hand.
"I'm a foot specialist."
"Oh, your the chiropodist," I just wanted to piss him off a little.
His face went red and he rushed up to me and grabbed my shirt.
"You little twerp, look at you, who the hell are you some sort of nobody who mops up after people-he tossed me against the lockers. I brought my knee up to his crotch and jabbed my elbow into his ribs. The DPM slid to the floor, but braced himself on one of the chairs. "I'll have your job you little piece of ****..."
At that very moment the old vascular surgeon came into the room. The DPM saw him and steadied himself.
"Sir," The DPM said. Not wanting to appear the least disturbed by this incident.
"Buddy," How come you all aren't at the nursin' home clippin' them nails I referred to you? You ever wanna work in this town again?"
"Yes sir," The DPM said.
"Then you best be gettin' outta that golf suit and over to the nail garden and gettin's some work done.
At that moment the DPM and I locked eyes.
I'm sure its not the last I'll see of him.

To be continued...