I dread waiting in lines. It's not that I'm impatient, it's just that I look upon the time in a line as moments in my life that I will never get back. Such times are when I have to go to the bank to do the banking the old fashioned way for some of my limited financial activities. Long story short, I had to head into our local financial institution the other day. It was just to do some simple transfer but it had to be done. It was a rainy, dreary day. Like a ton of bricks, it hit me: the reason I was doing this chore was because it was the 15th of the month and about 400 other clients, lots of them farmers, had business due this same rainy day and they were all ahead of me in this line-up.

I could see this line of anxious souls as I opened the door for a little lady from the blue rinse set. Age before beauty, I thought, and besides, what's one more person in the line going to set me back in time? So I figured I was in this for the long haul: take it easy!

Sure enough, the line snaked around the bank floor, back and forth several times. I set my mind in neutral and just smiled and waited. This woman, who shall I say has seen more birthdays than she will admit, was now in front of me in this immense line. She smiled back in a way that said, "I think I know you so I'll start up a conversation." Trust me, I didn't know her from Adam (or should I say Eve?) but anyway, I acted as if I was listening, all the while fuming about how long this line will put me behind for the rest of my day.

"Well, I'm glad I got my field chores done yesterday. Its a bit too muddy to be out harvesting golf balls today," she stated, as if I cared.

"Golf balls?" I asked. "What golf balls?"

"Oh, we farm next to a golf course and right where we have soybeans is the spot where the golfers seem to be aiming to land on the ninth hole," she said. "My husband doesn't like the idea of picking up anything in his combine, so 1 go out and pick golf balls. Do you know how much 250 golf balls weigh?" she asked.

"No 1 don't," I responded, getting somewhat more interested in this yarn.

"Well, its more than 1 can cany in one trip."

"So what do you do with all these golf balls?" I asked. "Do you take them to the pro shop and see if anyone is interested in buying balls?"

"No, 1 didn't think they'd be interested, so 1 just store them in the shed. Maybe my grandchildren will take up golf and 1 could keep them supplied," said the lady.

"OK, let me get this straight," I said. "You cleaned up 250 golf balls this year from that soybean field. How many did you 'harvest' last year?"

"Last year? How about in a week?" she said. "1 cleaned the same area just the week before and got about the same amount. " Pausing, she then went on: "What is it about golfers that they can't keep the ball on the course?"

I thought better of what I could have said, that being that the majority of golfers are just duffers and Mike Weir wannabes. So I just kept listening and shuffling ahead with glacier speed toward that bank teller's counter.

"And another thing," she continued. "Why do these golfers throwaway their clubs? I have a two or three clubs with the wooden end and at least a half dozen all metal ones. Do you know how much damage they'd cause to our combine? Jam the cylinder right up if it didn't get caught in the knife."

She went on wondering aloud. "Whats with them? Do they dislike the game that much that they throwaway their clubs? And what do they do with that pole implement that goes in and out like a telescope and it has a small wire basket on the end? 1 found one of them this year as well."

At this point, I had a belly laugh in me that I just couldn't hold back. I wanted to tell her that the implement she described was the tool used to fish balls out of the water. But I was too pre-occupied with trying not to laugh at her matter-offact way of telling me about all the golf paraphernalia she must have stashed away in her shed. I don't want to think what a spoon would cost, let alone some of the fancy niblicks or mashies they make today. Gives new meaning to the expression "disposable society."

So I just shook my head and agreed with her that I too do not understand the game of golf. All the while thinking, this lady is one heck of a story-teller. The next thing I knew, she left the line to go to the counter and I heard, "Mr. Jordan, you're next."

That's the fastest bank queue I've ever been in.