FYOP/Hollywood Hardware/0052
Janelle's confidence seems misplaced. She's no better than an amateur human golfer, and with her third swing, she lands her ball in the pond. She's absolutely furious.
She storms over to the edge of the pond and looks in, as if the ball might have magically reappeared. When it doesn't, she looks back at you with a death glare.
"Get in there and get my fucking ball," she growls.
You take off your shoes and socks and roll up your pants. You gingerly step into the pond, feeling the cold water seep into your clothes. You wade around for a few minutes, but you can't find the ball. "It's not here," you tell Janelle.
"Bullshit," she says. "Find it."
You wade around for a few more minutes, but still can't find the ball. "I'm telling you, it's not here," you say, starting to get frustrated.
"Then keep looking," she says, her voice dripping with venom.