Florida

I just got back from vacation, and I can categorically state that if Satan’s hot tub caught fire, ate ghost peppers, and erupted a pyroclastic lava flow, it would still be cooler than Florida. I have also determined Florida is entirely populated by a few very distinct demographic groups.

First, you have the tourists. They are easily identified by the pool of sweat evaporating at their feet, the crying toddler who can’t figure out why their parents have placed them in the oven, and Disney paraphernalia. When the temperature tops 110˚F, and it will, somebody’s throwing those mouse ears if snack time is missed, and it could be Dad.

The second group are the socially confused. These people are from New Jersey or a neighboring state and are attempting to escape rudeness, property inflation, high taxes, and overpopulation. They brought with them rudeness, property inflation, high taxes, and overpopulation. And now they’re also really hot. But in their confusion, they repeat ten times a minute how there isn’t any snow in Florida. Of course there’s no snow. It’s five billion degrees. As a side note, please do not tell these people about Tennessee. We prefer Yankees that understand the meaning of ‘heat stroke.’

The third group are those with arterial disease. These people actually aren’t even hot. They are often seen wearing a sweater in the summer, driving a golf cart forty miles per hour and/or a Cadillac ten miles per hour when triple digit temps are the norm, and consider anything under eighty degrees ‘cold’.

The final group are the people who can’t get out. Sometimes this is economically driven. For instance, it’s hard to relocate your DVD store/orange stand/discount ticket store. Even on the small chance it would be viable outside of Florida, it would be darn near impossible to find the appropriate circa 1970 cinderblock shack unless you’re willing to move to Detroit. Sometimes, they just can’t find their way out. All back roads in Florida lead to other back roads. It’s easier to escape a black hole than get from the back roads of the Sunshine State to the interstate. Judging from the number of vehicles on cinderblocks in front yards, I also suspect transportation could be a problem for many who wish to escape. Regardless why they can’t leave, this group is easily identifiable. They always wear jorts, and when I say always, I mean always. Ball games, church, business meetings, I suspect weddings, fancy restaurants (i.e. Denny’s), all jort moments.

It’s good to be home.