Miami is a Disease That Dies Hard

I just got back from Orlando, and already, two Miami imbeciles have practically run me off the road.

I had to sit down and decompress when I got home. I can’t interact with people until I have a candy bar and a few minutes to cope with the grief of returning to this place.

A friend of mine who moved to Orlando renewed his marriage vows, and I was invited. Yesterday I drove up and got a hotel room. I was startled by the traffic on the Ronald Reagan Turnpike (I refuse to call it by its former name). All the way past Palm Beach, it was packed. Things have really changed.

I was disturbed by the way people treated me in Orlando. They were so nice, it made me jumpy. It made me realize something about myself: I’m not just afraid of rejection; I’m afraid of acceptance.

I’m used to avoiding talking to people in Miami, because much of the time, conversations here are hostile or awkward. In Orlando, people forced me to have longer interactions. They held doors for me. The people at McDonald’s gave me helpful tips on prices. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t used to conversations lasting a whole 30 seconds.

When people accept you, you have to come up with something to say to them. I didn’t realize I would have to deal with that.

It’s not a humorous exaggeration when I say I was disturbed by the nice manners I encountered. Here in Miami, when a person tries to strike up a conversation with you, it usually means they want to do something bad to you. In my case, it’s mostly telemarketers and addicts (i.e. “the homeless”). I have become conditioned to cut communications short. I was very grateful for the good treatment I got in Orange County, but it also put me under a very real kind of pressure I was not used to.

When I got to the hotel, I learned that I had come on the wrong day. I had made a computer error. I reserved a room for Friday night, and I showed up on Saturday. My card had already been charged. When the clerk realized what had happened, she got on the computer and worked it out so I got a free room last night. The bill said “0” on it. They didn’t have to do that. The place was packed, due to the arrival of a geriatric biker gang (the Grandparents of Anarchy). They could have charged me or rented the room to someone else who would have paid. I didn’t know what to think.

People made a point of coming up to me and introducing themselves at the wedding, to make sure I wasn’t isolated the whole time.

Over the last month, lots of people have told me how much they hate Miami. I went to Home Depot, and the lady who designs kitchens said she hated Miami. I went to the flea market, and the old guy I bought wrenches from said he wouldn’t live in Miami if they gave it to him. I hired a guy to demolish my dad’s deck, and he said he hated Miami, too. At the wedding, my friend’s uncle said people in Miami seemed like they always wanted to fight.

I felt sadness come over me today when I realized I was nearly in Dade County. It was really happening. I was leaving northern Florida and coming back. It was like getting on a bus leaving San Quentin and then being pulled off by a guard.

I realized how much this rotten city has damaged me emotionally. I’m not cut out for this place. I don’t enjoy fighting with people. I’m not willing to cut a stranger’s throat to get a nicer car. I’m tired of living among atheists and demon worshipers. What other major American city has hundreds of thousands of people who literally practice voodoo? Even New Orleans can’t compete.

Before today, I had never seen myself as a person the city itself had harmed. That was a revelation.

Miami-boosters have no idea what life is supposed to be like. Childishness, racism, and aggression are all they know. It’s a good thing they like it here, because maybe it will make them less likely to invade and ruin other places. Miami has always been flypaper for jerks.

This weekend I had another revelation: Miami people have the Sodom mindset. Sodom and Gomorrah were famous for mistreating strangers. Jewish lore says Abraham’s servant Eliezer went to Sodom, and a man wounded him with a rock. A Sodomite judge told Eliezer he had to pay the man for the beneficial bloodletting. Eliezer wounded the judge and told him to pay the man what he owed Eliezer.

Anyway, people here treat strangers very badly. That’s why road rage is so bad here. People here like to use the word “random” to describe strangers, as if not knowing a person justifies whatever you do to him.

Miami is filling up like a tick, as people from other countries jam it to the rafters. The traffic is terrible, and the crude, congested skyline looks like it was moved here from Brazil. The ironic up side is that the more crowded this place gets, the better off I’ll be in Ocala. I’ll inherit what my dad owns here, and the population increase is raising prices fast. The annoying people I leave behind will, if God permits, provide for my ease in old age.

People who think this is a neat place are like men who have never seen a real woman, whistling at Bruce Jenner and trying to get his phone number. If you don’t know what the real thing is like, you can’t be expected to recognize a fake.

I’m going to bust my hump getting out of here. If I have to get in the car three or four times a year and drive down here to manage my dad’s real estate, that’s fine. That is a small price to pay. The hotel bills will be deductible.