Jeff is covering an annual golf tournament this week, and today was the qualifying rounds. One English golfer, who now lives in Florida, scored really well, and he thought he would get to stay for the tournament. So he postponed his flight back home.
But some other golfers had an even better day than he did, which meant he didn't make the cut. He needed a flight home after all. The only problem was that the car he had set up to take him to the airport had already gone.
The golfer asked around for anyone who was going in the direction of the airport, but nobody was going that way ... except for Jeff. We live seven minutes door-to-door from the airport, so of course, Jeff offered the guy a ride.
Jeff drives a Mustang, so there's not a lot of trunk space, and he has a car seat for Biscuit in the back seat. But they managed to get a large suitcase, a full set of golf clubs and a couple of smaller bags packed in.
It was time to leave, and the English golfer walked to the driver's side of the car and started to get in. When he saw the steering wheel, he just laughed, realizing he was on the wrong side of the car.
"I am English," the guy said. And as Jeff was telling me the story, I was wishing I could've heard the golfer's accent.
Jeff said they chit-chatted about golf, family and travel, and next thing you know, they were at the airport.
Jeff called me to say he'd be home for dinner after all, and that he'd write his story from home. And of course, I had to tell Biscuit the story.
"Mom, why did Dad take that golf player to the airport?" Biscuit asked me.
"Because it was the right thing to do," I told him.
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