We were playing in a best ball fundraiser at Ford's Colony in Williamsburg. My partner Ed was/is pretty good, so we were playing pretty quickly.
We couldn't play through, and after the 3rd hole of waiting (people ahead of us didn't understand the concept of best ball) we started pounding beer. By the 17th, We were ripped, and I got my ride on the firetruck. The marshall wasn't terribly impressed, but given the amount of crap he saw people doing (carts on greens, not raking hazzards, driving at a par 3 while the team ahead was on the green, you know the drill), he didn't say much to me. Just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Ed's wife (Teresa's boss) had to drive up from Va Bch and get us home. On the way home, I think we were somewhere around Newport News when she expressed the desire "to choke your drunk asses."