WORKING REMOTELY HAS ITS ADVANTAGES.

You don’t have to worry about what to wear or even basic grooming for that matter, except those days when you have Zoom calls scheduled.

But there are also those days, like back in the office, that are particularly stressful. Nothing goes right. All your colleagues are behind on their deadlines; you get a jury summons in the mail; your computer is on the fritz. ARGGG!!!

You contemplate going back to bed, day drinking or at the very least getting into another line of work. Suddenly your phone rings.

“WHAT?” you yell at the screen, expecting an IRS auditor or some deep-voiced sheriff-sounding guy asking for donations to the sheriff’s ball.

But no.

“E9,” the voice on the other end calmly says.

Your blood pressure immediately drops at the utterance. A smile cracks your lips.

“Praise be,” you reply. “An appointment with Dr. Green.”

“See you there,” the voice says.

Thus, an E9 — an “emergency nine” holes of golf — has been enacted, and not a minute too soon. You drop what you’re doing — gladly — grab your sticks and run to the car. Twenty minutes later you’re as happy as a hound on a Thanksgiving dinner table, getting ready to swing away on the first tee, not a care in the world except hitting the fairway.

There are four guys in my group who can make the E9 call. Jimbo, whose golf swing looks like he’s doing the funky chicken, which by itself makes me laugh; Gary, who probably calls the majority of our E9s, being a type-A ad guy; Tom, a bum, really, who is ready to go play anytime, anywhere; and me. I call the fewest, but should call the most. It’s just so hard for me to admit defeat, even when the day is particularly lousy.

But when someone else calls one, I’m out the door in a heartbeat. See ya later, honey. I’ll be back in time for chow. Don’t forget to let the dogs out.

There’s an unwritten rule that — under penalty of buying beers for all after the round — no one shall discuss nor inquire about work during an E9 round. In fact, many times there’s no talk at all, just four guys puffing away on their stogies, walking into the sunset, golf bags slung across their backs, blissful on the afternoon golf course.

Other times, talk is brisk, but always frivolous. Four guys yucking it up, telling stories and spreading urban myths about golf balls that were picked up by crows and dropped near flagsticks; golfers being run up trees by angry geese; beautiful drives that ended up disappearing down snake holes. It can be a wild world out there on a golf course, and some days that’s exactly what we need.