I realize I’m a trifle odd about a few things, so just take me at my word when I tell you that I get a kick out of driving in Miami. It’s intense, entertaining, and challenging. Sure it can be infuriating, too. So can golf and fishing, and look at all the otherwise sane people who throw barrels of money away to participate.
Thursday was one of those days when I had no choice but to play fetch — drive down to the airport cargo area, then to customs, then back to cargo. Shoot on over to Biscayne Blvd ‘way downtown for materials to inventory and deliver, then up to North Miami to drop off a fat envelope. Finally, up to downtown Ft. Lauderdale to deliver a check.
I’d never been to the cargo area so I called to find out what I needed to claim a package, and to get directions. The agent, sporting a thick Caribbean accent, told me take 36th Street to 67th Avenue, go left to 22nd Street, and when I make a left look for “a semen tower.”
A what?
“
A semen tower. The airport semen tower. It’s gigantic. You can’t miss it.”
Right. A gigantic semen tower? I wouldn’t miss this for John Wadd’s photo album. But it all became pretty damn mundane when I figured out that “semen” was “cement.”
Never been to Customs, either. I get directions that don’t mention that you can’t park there; you have to park on the roof of the building across the street. The entrance ramp is poorly marked — I flew right by it and had to double back — but apparently some people manage to commit to it accidentally and require rescue: see sign.
What a hoot.
I covered 122 miles, listening to Jim Rome then Procol Harum (when I wasn’t on the phone). Not a bad day, despite the mileage. Very few asshole encounters, too. That makes a big difference. Remember that when you’re driving. Which reminds me of a joke:
Guy calls the wife on the way home from the office. “Oh be careful on the highway, dear!” cries the wife. “The radio reports there’s some maniac driving north on the southbound lanes tying up everything!” “One maniac, hell,” thunders the guy. “There’s hundreds of ’em!”
Obalesque 
You’re stone nuts if you find anything good about driving in Miami or anywhere in south Florida. It’s worse here than any place I’ve ever driven, which includes NY/NJ and Boston, where STOP and red lights are treated like unwelcome suggestions.
Thanks for cleaning up the other blog you’re not part of any more. That kid is an irritant.
Ah….did you say, “talking on the phone while driving?” Does Guido know? Way I heard it, if she knew you were on the phone for any reason while driving, she threatened to stuff your balls into your ears so you couldn’t hear it ring. Just saying….hey, I’ll never tell.