This meme had me laughing not just because of the obvious reasons, but because of something that really happened to me.
One of my late father’s drinking buddies was in Miami while I was living in Clearwater, Florida, and called to say hello – and gave me directions to come see him. He wasn’t a person I considered particularly close, and my father and he did not see eye to eye on something that had caused a rift, but he was one of the formative influences growing up. When I lost the willingness to fight when cornered by authority, he encouraged me to keep fighting – to ‘never let them have it easy even if they win.’. I think that’s pretty good advice, though younger generations don’t seem to have been taught this.
Anyway, I drove down – but when I hit South Miami, I somehow ended up with a flat. It was dark, there were Ladies of the Night nearby, and all I wanted to do was change my tire and get going – because this did not seem like the neighborhood to be caught in after dark by anyone. If I could tell that it was hookerville, so could anyone else. A latin-looking guy in South Miami with out of city plates driving a pickup?
“No bueno, officer, I can ‘splain!”
I started changing the tire in the dark, feeling my way around the Dakota’s rear end where no one practical had put a light for such occasions – and the streetlights were about as dim as they could be without being out. It’s taking me a while.
I hear footsteps. High heels sharpened on concrete, commonly called stilettos I think. A soft voice calls quietly over my sweaty, and likely dirty, shoulder, “Hey baby”, her foot drags, “you need a little help?”
“No ma’am, I’m fine, just trying to fix this tire.”
“That’s what I mean.”
That’s not what I thought she meant. Before I know it, she’s squatting behind me, holding a flashlight that she’d had tucked away somewhere – a big maglight, likely for self defense (or maybe it was an undercover cop). Before you know it, I have hookers hanging around the pickup, talking about this and that while I work feverishly on this tire. I think they enjoyed my discomfort, or found it pleasant.
Afterward, I offered a bit of cash for the help with that flashlight – it was turned down. “It’s a shame to come to Miami and not have a good experience. Can I do anything else?”
“Umm. Nope, thanks.”
“Have a great night”, I ended up quizzically, wondering what that would be.
I drove off, a sigh of relief finally escaping me as I shifted into 2nd gear.
That was the highlight of the entire trip to Miami, since this particular guy just wanted to get money, disguised as a business venture that had more sale than keel. So I went to Miami, and the sex workers were better than the people I grew up looking up to.