Florida and Almost Dying

So, I've been travelling a lot. One of the places I have spent quite a bit of time lately is Florida.

Now at the risk of offending the residents of America's vestigial tail, I am not a big fan of Florida. Here are some reasons why:

1. While in Tampa recently, I was waiting in a line of cars waiting to be valet parked at a local restaurant. As the valet got in the car ahead of ours and began driving it off, he very purposefully put his hand out the window. As he did so, I could see a cigarette in his fingers. Yes, a valet at the nicest restaurant in town was smoking as he was parking cars, yet holding the cigarette out the window because it was a "classy joint". This, I believe, is a metaphor for Florida as a whole.

2. The restaurant itself was owned by Tampa Bay Buccaneers Mike Alstott and Dave Moore. Even a casual NFL fan would know who Mike Alstott is, but Dave Moore is a little less well known. The rest of my party and I were trying to figure out if we knew who Dave Moore was. The simple answer... no.

Luckily, the mystery was soon to be solved. When I went to the washroom, there were two shrines located a short distance from the urinals. One of these was constructed in worship of Mike Alstott, hard charging downhill runner, and the other was in honor of Dave Moore, a Bucs tight end. Yes, only in Florida would you find a local celebrity being honored by a display in a location where it could accidentally be urinated upon. Incidentally, the highlight of the Dave Moore display was a game ball (regular season) commemorating a three reception, fifty-seven yard performance. I can only assume the Hall of Fame is a foregone conclusion.

Anyway, as I went about my business, two young men teetering on the jagged edge of adolescence were staring at the displays of relatively unimpressive memorabilia. Their faces were pressed close to the glass in a perverse, modern day Norman Rockwell print that would have at one time been two boy scouts surveying the wonders of some sort of bakery or taffy emporium. However, the idyllic restroom scene was being marred by a heated argument. It went something like this...

Kid 1: "No way, man! It's him! It's Mike Alstott!"

Kid 2: "That's not Mike Alstott!"

Kid 1: "You just don't recognize him 'cause he's in a suit. I've seen him in a suit. That's what he looks like in a suit. That's Mike Alstott...Mike Alstott in a suit!"

Kid 2: (After a long pause as they both stared at the picture.) "THAT'S DAVE MOORE, YOU FAGGOT!"

This conversation, I believe, is a metaphor for Florida as a whole.

3. While in Orlando, I was staying in a very nice hotel near Sea World. I had a room on the seventh floor with a balcony overlooking the central atrium. I would keep the blackout curtains closed at night to keep out the light and noise of the central courtyard area. One night, a little after 1:30 am, I heard a car alarm go off in the distance just as I was about to fall asleep. It kept going for awhile, and I was generally annoyed. I have trouble sleeping, and this wasn't making it any easier.

Suddenly, there was pounding on my door. Then, someone actually opened my door. Whoever it was shouted into the room, "It's a fire! Get out!" Suddenly I realized that it wasn't a car alarm, it was a fire alarm--but for some reason it wasn't going off in my room.

Now you have to understand that throughout my life, I have always been something of a karmic lightning rod. Weird things happen to me all the time, and it takes quite a lot to really rattle me or freak me out. So, I rolled out of bed and got dressed quickly, then walked calmly to the door and exited to the hallway.

I was joined by others who were exiting their rooms--all of which had fire alarms in them blaring loudly. We were immediately met by an acrid, burning smell. We quickly made our way down the hall and around the corner towards the stairs. When we rounded the turn, it took us out on an open walkway that overlooked the central atrium. As soon as I turned my head to look along the wall of balconies (one of which was, in fact, my balcony) I saw a TEN STORY COLUMN OF FLAMES.

I made it outside along with everyone else just as every fire truck in the state of Florida was arriving. I found the rest of the people I was travelling with, and we decided to catch a cab and go get something to eat. We came back near four o'clock in the morning, and the firemen and police still weren't letting people back in their rooms. When we were finally allowed to return, I made my way to my floor and noticed from a distance that two firemen were standing guard outside a door near the end of my hallway. Even though they were a long way away and I couldn't tell for sure, I immediately said to myself, "It's going to be my room." Sure enough, I was right.

When I got there, they asked if it was my room. "Yep," I replied. "You can't go in there," they said apologetically. They called hotel security, and a guy showed up to talk to me. His first question was, "Who are you?" I identified myself. "Do you have any identification?" he queried. "I do in my room," I responded. For some reason, I have a rich history of people not believing I am who I say I am, and I had unfortunately followed the advice of every single public service announcement I had ever seen and left my room immediately leaving my identification behind. Luckily, I was eventually able to convince the hotel rep that I was, in fact, me.

When I entered my room, the curtains had been opened and my balcony doors were swung wide. That's when I discovered that out of the thousand or so rooms in the hotel, mine was the one hit the hardest. While the flames didn't actually make it in the room, my balcony was torched. I hadn't even known that on the other side of my curtains, my balcony was blazing, and, ironically, the worst hit room in the building was also the one with a malfunctioning fire alarm. Again--karmic lightning rod.

It seems that somehow, one set of the artificial plants that adorned all the interior balconies had caught fire. After that, rising flames ignited all of the balconies above, while flaming, molten polyester ignited all of the balconies below. Flaming polyester raining death from the heavens--that, I believe, is a metaphor for Florida as a whole.

4. The strangest thing I saw while in Florida (this time) still makes me laugh every time I think of it. It was a strip club that used to be...a Pizza Hut.

And that, I believe, is a metaphor for Florida as a whole.

Someday I'll tell some even stranger tales of my many journeys to Florida, but they'll have to wait until another time.