The Irish Golfing Gombeen.

We meet all types of personality in our daily lives. But nothing seems to irk us more than those who look down their nose at us. Their feeling of superiority and all-knowingness makes us feel cheap and used. And then five minutes later, when they are gone, you think of the response you should have given them.

I had the simple pleasure of sitting down behind three of these types of gombeens recently. They reminded me of how much crap they actually talk.

Before I continue, I must tell you that my first job was in a fairly posh golf club, so I can see this type of person coming a mile off. I endured and tolerated some amount of politically incorrect stuff during my formative years. Not all members are like this, but a lot of them are this idiotic.

I was seated behind three grown men between the ages of 45-55. They sat in front of me and I bore witness to their immature chat during the morning flight. They were excited heading away on their holidays, which was understandable, as was I. But the kind of verbal diahorrea that came out of their mouths was hilarious, and a little bit disgusting. I had truly forgotten how this type of snobbish behaviour still exists - outside of Ross O'Carroll Kelly books.

My first boss, Vincent, instilled in me an ability to swallow your pride and accept shite from these plonkers. You would get further and last longer in the job if you just got on with it, he said. I knew that it wasn't acceptable, but behind closed bar doors and in kitchens we all laughed at their stupidity well after the fact. It was a form of group therapy, if you will.

For example - you spoke a different way to the full members and the visitors. You called the Captain of that particular year "Captain", instead of John or Mary, like you would normally do. They said it was based on respect, but I knew damn well it was just about power and lording it over the mere minions that worked in kitchens and bars.

My favourite incident I recall was working with an absolute lady, who for privacy reasons, I'm going to call her, Nell. Nell worked in the kitchen and was well experienced. She was born and bred in Finglas, but moved into the country when she and her husband started a family.

It was about 1994 or '95 when the Captain and Lady Captain of that year, had just had their Drive-In. It normally happens in early spring, when the Irish golfing season officially begins. One particular lady member, who had just been instated as Lady Captain, got ideas above her station all of a sudden.

This same 'lady', played regular golf and was heavily involved with the running of the ladies competitions. She was well liked by all the staff until this day. This woman had never worked a day in her life and had years previously married a very wealthy businessman - who was also obnoxious by the way, coincidentally.

The newly appointed Lady Captain had always been known to everyone in the golf club by her first name, Ramona. Cue the conversation from almost two decades ago when Ramona visited the kitchen to order something on an early Tuesday morning.

Knock knock on the open kitchen door.

"Hello there! Is there anyone in?"

"Yep. I'm just in the door. I'm over here emptying de dishwasher. Ah howya Ramona - 'tis only yerself. What can I get ya?"

"Em quite. Eh, Nell, could I please get tea and scones for three as soon as possible. We have a tee time in forty minutes - chop chop."

"Yeah, no problem Ramona. You take a seat in the bar and I'll drop dem down to ya as quick as I can."

"And eh, Nell - heat them for me and put butter and jam on all three also. And for God's sake don't let the tea go to to treacle."

"Yep - no problem Ramona. I'll do dat right now."

"And one more thiing Nell. It's Lady Captain from here on in. Lady Captain to you and your eh, sort. Do I make myself clear? I'm only called Ramona by my friends."

"No problem Ramona."

I had just clocked in to open the bar and Nell was fuming as I cut through the kitchen. I had just missed their special little chat.

I pointed out that Nell hadn't had time to sweep the kitchen floor - just yet.

Before Nell dropped the tea and scones down to the three ladies in the bar, we played a little game.

We called it Kick the Scone across the Dirty Floor with your Grubby Mucky Shoes On.

Nell delivered the tray to the bar, placed it on the table and said with a bright smile

"There ya go Lady Captain. Enjoy!"

Just remember that when you treat people like shit, it comes back to bite you.