The perfect cart girl has a soft smile, but thick skin. All the ruthless flirting and unwanted comeons— just how bad, and bawdy, does it really get? As a 24-year-old female on the Golf Digest editorial staff, I was the best person to find out. With the tacit cooperation of two courses in Arizona, I went undercover behind the wheel for three days. The names in this story have been changed, but the exchanges with patrons are verbatim, as recorded by the stealthy spy pen that rode shotgun in my front pocket.
The general manager unlocks the beer closet. In a single weekend, this course will go through eight cases of Coors Light, eight cases of Bud Light, four cases of Miller Lite, three cases of Corona and two cases…