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Tennis Redux

Back from a bit of a vacation which turned out to be off the grid. And yes, we’re back to the tennis theme. I’m beginning to think that my debacle at the Louisville Tennis Center was beshert (that’s Yiddish for “fate”). Because had the Most Control Freaky Guy in Louisville NOT have blown an O-ring, Simon would not have been in camp this week at the Louisville Tennis Club. Instead, he would have been playing outside and using up our remaining lessons.

Except he wouldn’t, because it’s raining and/or threatening to rain every day this week.

Meanwhile, things at the Louisville Tennis Club, which is indoors, have taken an amusing turn. Today was day one of their camp. On the way in the car, Simon began to complain of stomach pain. This happens a lot, and is or can be the result of nerves, fatigue, hunger, or any other number of causes. My stomach was always tricky as a kid, too, so I sympathize.

On the way in, we were greeted by a pretty and friendly college or high school student who had the same energetic, tom-boyish affect as Simon’s coach last summer. I told her what was up, and she was on it. “Hey little guy, you sit down any time you need to. No need to ask or tell. And if it gets really bad–and I’m hoping it won’t–you come to me and I’ll get you help. OK?”

He was already better. Feeling he was in very good hands, I went to drop off my information sheet at the front desk. The receptionist was on the phone, and there was one woman ahead of me in line. I was hoping to run home and get a run in, and the woman in front of me must have sensed my agitation.

“Do you just have a form to drop off?” she asked. “Why don’t you just give it to me. I have to pay and ask about schedules, so I’m going to be here for a while. There’s no sense in you waiting when I need lots of help and have nowhere to go this morning.”

That, my friends, was not the vibe I got the last time. But wait, there’s more. On my way out, I stopped by the glass viewing wall to see if Simon was up and playing. A middle-aged man in a red club shirt holding some sort of communication device caught my eye and came out to ask if I needed anything. He seemed to be one of those in charge. I told him what was up, he assured me he’d keep an eye on Simon, I assured him that wasn’t necessary, and we began to chit-chat.

After a while, I jokingly said, “Hey, don’t you have a bunch of kids to settle in?” To which he replied—and I promise I’m not making this up—“Not at all. I’ve got staff for that. I need to be available to check in on parents, answer questions, and make sure everyone leaves happy.” It took every ounce of self-restraint to not burst out laughing at this.

But wait, there’s still more! I made unusually good time on my way back to pick Simon up, and went inside the club store. Behind me, I thought I heard someone spelling out her last name on a phone call thusly. ” . . . l-d-s-t-e-i-n.” Had to be “Goldstein”, right? So I asked the shop clerk if there was a person named Goldstein she knew around here. “You mean A Goldstein, our shop owner?”  “Maybe,” I answered. “Did she just leave here?” “Oh no, that was C Goldstein, one of our regular Moms.” I told her why I was asking, and she smiled and insisted on introducing us.

Then I bought a great new running tank from their half-off rack.

So let’s sum this up: At the LTC I got publically humiliated and then privately excoriated. At the other LTC, I had one parent help me, a coach help my child, the program director be super friendly and charming, met another Goldstein, and shopped a clearance rack. And oh yeah, Simon was “player of the day” today for chasing down the longest forehand.

Louisville Tennis Club for the Win!

As for his stomach, he reassured me in the car that “the tennis helped make it feel better.” His stomach wasn’t the only one improved by the fabulous customer service today.




One Response to “Tennis Redux”

  1. Amanda says:

    Karma rules.

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