A Convenient Encounter

Last night at around ten pm, I was driving home from my life-altering, weekly, Wednesday Torah Class and noticed something very unusual.  Miami Beach was crowded! As a newly-minted Floridian resident, I have looked forward to this time of year, when the snowbirds, the rappers and the peacocks have flown back to their indigenous areas and disappeared. You can easily maneuver through the traffic on the streets and in Publix, and the beach is not saturated with selfie-addicts with an uncontrollable compulsion to pose with every life-guard station and palm tree.  It’s searingly hot, but worth it. It was too far away from July 4th madness, to be this busy, and as I attempted to run into Walgreens to grab some water, I noticed that there was not ONE parking space in the entire lot.

Then I got it.  The debates.

I was shocked that I hadn’t thought of the Democratic Debates here, in Miami.  Usually, I enjoy watching the political theatre and the lyi-umm, I mean “acting” of the different candidates.  This election is different for me.  The polarization of this country seems to be continuing to a level, I could never have dreamed of.  Because of our great divide, I have been called every expletive known to man, in MANY languages on Social Media.  Guess I’m an “international’ sensation! I, also, hear that I’m quite popular with some prison inmates, too.

("Yeah, take THAT, Kim K.!”  You’re not the only one working on “prison reform” and rehabilitation!”)

Since, I could barely squeeze into the huge parking lot of Walgreens, I decided to try the next best thing, lucky number, 7 ELEVEN.  It too, was jammed pack with a medley of characters, mostly reserved for any of the “premium” or “not so premium” cable channels.  (Think, “Westworld”, “The Deuce”, “Cops” and “One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest”- The prequel AND the sequel.)  As I was gridlocked in that parking lot, I heard a voice shouting,

“Youwhaar so byootiful!”

I turned to my left and saw it was a worn out, Russian bear of a man with bloodshot eyes and a car that was almost as old as he was.  That or either it was a very expensive “antique” car.  I wouldn’t know the difference.  I thanked him and proceeded to steal his parking spot. I was so proud of this accomplishment, that I may just be the next feature on “American Greed’ and called the “B” word. (Who says dreams can’t come true?”)

As I sauntered into the convenience store, I noticed a bevy of cops blocking the aisle between the coffee selection and the snacks.  I saw this as a sign from the universe.  It was too late for coffee and I was better off not indulging in my personal contraband, one of the greatest “Loves of my life”- “Pringles”.  The officers just stood there, so I just picked up my water and went to the counter to pay for it. (If you want to know, it was 2 Fiji Waters for $25.00.  Just kidding, $3.50.)  As I was leaving, I congratulated the cops on their new Chief of Police and they said they were cautiously optimistic about him.  I thanked them for their service and walked out of the busy hub.  I gulped down the water and was on my way to my car, when another guy stopped me. (I must have been having a “good” day or there was a lot of drinking involved on the part of the others.)

This one was a “doozy”. I don’t know if there are enough words or metaphors to describe this individual.  I will try, my utmost, to create a clear and concise image for you.  Here goes.

The gentleman was of average height, with a pompadour that would make Elvis and “the Fonz” jealous. He was about 40, with jet black hair, eyes like a hound dog and a huge, shiny gold cross necklace that looked like he had spent hours polishing. He WAS Andrew Dice Clay, minus the Jewish.  As he began to speak, I realized that he was more of a cross between Dustin Hoffman in “The Rainman” and any “Joe Pesci” character.  I was officially in the “twilight zone”, when he looked at me and said in very thick Brooklynese”,

“You live heeah?”.

“Yes”, I politely responded

“Yaw Gawjis! Yoomusbee a model.”

“Yes, I am.  For “Animal crackers’. (I couldn’t help myself)

“Yoo from Brooklyn?  He asked

“Originally”, I replied

He grinned at me like the cat that ate the canary (or in this case, the cat that ate the “Granny”)

“Ahm frum the Bay Ridge area, ya familya?”

(I started humming the theme to “The Godfather”.)

“Yes I am.  Very”.

“Ya know I moved heeah 15 years ago.  I needed to get away from that “Life”.  It sorta pulls yoo in”.  He was “tawking” to me like I was married to the mob.

“That’s understandable”, I, sympathetically, replied.

Then he repeated to me how beautiful he thought I was and asked me out for a drink.  I wanted to be snarky and tell him, that I first had to go and change into my poodle skirt and bobby socks, circa 1952, to join him.  Instead I said,

“I’m not available, but thank you!” and left him before you could say “GoodFella.”

Who says 7eleven is boring?