Mini Golf Markus
He wasn’t supposed to work here that much longer, he was going back to school full-time next month. This made him happy, and also made the long days staring at the trees through a window in a wooden hut bearable. It was only the weekends filled with back-to-back visitors packed into the course like sardines that gave the job any life. He liked nature, but had explored almost all of the nooks and crannies of woodland surrounding the mini golf course over the summer.
He was going to school to be an engineer. Later, he wanted to build roller-coasters. He loved the idea of building things that brought people joy. He supposed this is why he took the summer job at the mini golf course, as he liked hearing the joyful giggles of the adults and children alike who putted their way through the course. Occasionally there would be little bits of drama on the course, someone hit a ball too hard and it flew under the fence down into the adjacent river, or someone would come in at five over par on a hole and let loose a string of expletives. On the whole though, it was a pretty peaceful and straightforward job.
Summer and its oppressive heat and bright green trees had reluctantly abruptly given way to fall and its brisk air and crunchy golden leaves strewn all about. In just three weeks the mini golf course would close for the season and he would lock up the hut for the last time. Today though, a Sunday, the course was well visited by families and couples looking to soak up the weakening rays of autumn sun. The course was open from ten in the morning to seven in the evening, except for Mondays, which was his day off. His first customers today had arrived promptly at five past ten, and he had happily handed them their clubs and golf balls in exchange for twenty-five euros.
In-between customers, he would make sure the hut was clean, stock the drink selection in the hut’s fridge, and, his favorite activity, work on sketches of roller coasters he hoped to build one day. He checked his watch, half past three. The course was comfortably full of happy patrons, but the stream of new arrivals had slowed down. The floor was clean and the fridge was full, so he turned his attention to his sketches. He turned to his favorite, which he already had a name for: The Mauler. He had already over twenty different finished designs which he was pretty happy with, but The Mauler was his favorite by far. He just hoped that one day he could convince investors of its greatness so that it could be freed from his sketchbook into the real world.
For as proud as he was of his sketches, designs, and general artistic talents, he knew he lacked the marketing skills that most ideas need in order to come to fruition. He knew that it was a rare idea that simply took off seemingly from itself with no publicizing or sales efforts from the idea’s creator. No, he couldn’t rely on “going viral” as it was sometimes called. Instead, he knew that he needed to find a partner. A person who saw the genius in his designs and could use the power of persuasion to convince those with means to finance them. For a long time, he had viewed marketing types as little more than smooth talking frauds with no real skills. That was, until he had learned in school about how many people and companies had only achieved success on the backs of relentless marketers and salespeople.
He often wondered how he would find this partner. He refused to go into business with friends or family, as he had only ever heard about this going south. A business relationship almost always overshadowed and ruined the underlying personal relationship. He knew though that it was indeed possible to find a business partner as many before him had done it, and this gave him hope. Luckily though, today, all he needed to do was man the mini golf hut and sketch. A small group of four customers approached his hut and he put his sketchbook to the side. He took their money and gave them their clubs. After they had begun to excitedly stroll to the first hole, he turned his sketchbook to a fresh page, took his favorite pencil in his hand, and began to whisk it back and forth across the page.