GOLF CART ENVY IN PEACHTREE CITY

A few years ago when my wife, Julie and I were thinking about moving to Peachtree City we visited its Welcome Center. As part of their visitors' presentation they sat us in a golf cart to watch a video of what the town had to offer. "What a queer accommodation," I thought. Little did I know then, that that was THE defining representation of Peachtree City.. .. The Golf Cart.

Where other cities are known by their bridges (Pittsburgh) or their buildings (New York) or their boorishness (Washington D.C.), this shady little borough in South Fayette County has come to be known simply by its battery operated status symbol.

So here I sit, 5 years later, visiting a therapist with my problem: "Golf Cart Envy." All I can afford is a weak excuse for a golf cart by Peachtree City standards and I feel like a failure because of it. After the doctor asks me about my mother and my childhood relationship to Tonka Trucks, I suggest, "Can't you just give me some sort of transportation therapy, Viagra equivalent."

The doctor says according to Freudian psychoanalytic theory, coveting in a situation like this, can lead to feelings of inferiority and defensiveness. I giggle like Bill Gates when he hears the words "anti-trust," upon ascertaining that obvious, little morsel. This is a big deal. It's not like I live in Dunwoody and can just plop down a hundred bucks for a Prince Pro Graphite and be back in good graces with the community. We are talking about a golf cart here.

Suburbally speaking, I already have one strike against me by driving a minivan. I mean, by the time I finally got the family into a Honda Accord, the rules of cool changed and it was the Plymouth Caravan. And now with 54 payments left on what amounts to a sliding-side-door polyester leisure suit, I'm supposed to be driving an SUV. Yes Virginia, peer pressure does exist in adult suburbia; so you better get yourself a tattoo and a facial peel 'cause papa's done got him some Propecia and tonight we're going to Longhorn's to cop an attitude.

Peachtree City has over 70 miles of golf cart paths. That's nearly 5 score miles of asphalt jungle to fight this battle of rural, rank supremacy. Even our police have golf carts in Peachtree City. As I poke along in my old, jerry-rigged electric Yamaha rickshaw, I can only wish as I see the biggest, the brightest and the best--all the while being driven by 15 year olds talking on cell phones. As I drive my undersized cart along, they yell things at me like, "peddle faster Fred Flinstone" and "nice wheels Regis Filbin."

In Peachtree City you can ride your golf cart to Kroger or K-Mart but, get this, I got yelled at for driving mine on a golf course. I wasn't playing, but the path I was on, took me right beside a stretch of fairway. I thought I had broken some rule, but I soon realized that the golfers were simply insulted by my less than stellar choice in wheels. But are they any better than me just because they drive golf carts that have spacious bench seats, retractable vinyl sides or tires with tread?

No matter where we are, there is always a caste system in place to divide us. To feel good about oneself do we always have to do it at the expense of another person's dignity. Are we not all human beings? Don't we all put on our Levi's Dockers one leg at a time? Do we all not recharge our golf carts with a hundred and ten volts? I think the answer is obvious.

Billy Murphy -- 4/1/99