The Disease of Stupidity

I am staying at my former father-in-law's half-a-million dollar condominium on the New River in Ft. Lauderdale. From my 16th storey balcony, I can view the entire downtown, the river's crusing yachts and touristy boats, the Imax, Broward Center for the Performing Arts, and an endless foliage wrapping its neighborhood houses. But here's the thing: I haven't been welcomed as a guest to the condominimum.  From the get-go, my name never got on the guest list, even though my father-in-law's wife called the management office several times with that request  Furthermore, I repeatedly called the property manager to request permission to valet and park in the garage, to which I have not yet been granted permission to park on the premises and received a $35 parking ticket for parking on the metered spaces right outside the building.

When I went to speak to the office manager about all the difficulties I've encountered in the building, she handed me a 15-page application to include references, names of former employers, schools attended and bank accounts; she advised there was $100 fee to process the application; and a mandatory interview with board, which she scheduled on the 25th of the month (five days before I drive back to Maine) to gain full access to the place. None of these requirement and policy made any sense, even though the property manager insisted that it was the rule that guests staying more than 30 days (I am staying a total of total of 28 days) be subjected to a screening process. When I handed her my credit card to process the fee she said there was no machines for such a transation. The next day, I returned with $100 in cash to which the manager said she could not accept for lack of a having a vault in her office. She then requested I bring her a cashier's check or money order.  Is she kidding with all this nonsense?

Here's an interesting observation:  the condominum's clause of exclusivity is so exclusive it excludes everyone. This epidemic is prevalent to the entire State of Florida, a place so stuck in superfice and artificiality it stops common sense right in it tracks. You can either be baffled by it, enraged by its injustice, or indifferent to the inanity of it all. I just know: Before I moved to Maine, I lived in Florida. While there, I met women who never divorced their husbands, paying lawyers fees for divorce cases in their 10th year; secretaries who made $25,000/yr and owned Mercedez Benz they could hardly afford;  housewives so obsessed with their aging faces they had monthly standing appointmnts at their plastic surgeon's office.  

I think I stayed in Florida as long as I did for my love of the Everglades, a paradise so beautiful, exotic, and dangerous, I secretly wish I can spend some time of my eternity swimming through its canals, and running free through its savannas, caves and forests.

The even sadder truth about Ft. Lauderdale, is that it looks deserted. When you walk around the Riverwalk all you see is a couple of joggers, a few tourists, and homeless men and women who spend their time in the library or sleeping on benches. Maybe, the secret of Florida's stupidity is out and with the challenges of such financial times people can't even afford to make the slightest error in vacation choices that might lead to frusteration and bad memories.

By the way, the condominmum's investigators called my references and wanted to know if I was a hard-worker, as if that was relevant to my staying at the place.  Regardless of their investigation of me, I was still told I could not use the pool unless I was accompanied by the owner of the unit, which in this case would be my former 80-year-old-former father-in-law who is now in the hospital with a case of pneumonia. Security explained that if I were to drown the owner would be responsible to save me and not the condominimum. At the point, I laughed when I realized my father-in-law had never liked me all that much and might not now be willing to jump into a pool to save me.