Arnie's Place: to the Locker Room Attendant

We visited Bay Hill last month.

We didn’t know which door led to the grille room and which one would spit us—boxers and all—into a bridge game. We weren’t even sure if the goldfish were for everyone.

No one had shaken our hand yet. We carried our club’s duffels like they was our service dogs. Hatless. Small. A little lost.

Then Max came around the corner.

“You guys look lost–you're with Mr. Greene today?"

Guest lockers are funny. Some clubs tuck you by the bathroom, hopping on one foot to change shoes. Others put you in a legend’s locker—Bing, Babe, a President—names in brass reminding you where you are.

Either way, the locker room attendant decides how you feel the first time you visit.

That was us. A little hungover. A little late.

Max walked us to the top lockers—Payne, Tiger, Mr. Palmer—and set out the holy trinity: hot coffee, iced water, half-and-half.

Max made the difference.

The smallest gestures define an experience.

Always go out of your way to make a stranger feel at home.