NOTHING Like A Leaking Water Heater

  I started my report on NOTHING on a warm Saturday afternoon. The breeze was ever so gentle and peaceful in my orange, gold color ...

 


I started my report on NOTHING on a warm Saturday afternoon. The breeze was ever so gentle and peaceful in my orange, gold color condominium “Savannah”. Mother had chosen today to travel to Miami Beach Hermit of Charity Chapel. We hoped to get an early communion thus allowing my family to stay in the beach without being impeded by our Catholic duties. The trip from Hialeah to Miami Beach usually takes about 40 to 50 minutes, depending on the traffic. Thus, this short trip served as a perfect opportunity to pursue my report on NOTHING. I sat in the back seat in my mother’s gray Toyota, my brother sat at her side.




The trip seemed uneventful until mother decided to take the new shortcut that she had researched on Google maps. You see my fellow readers; we had been running rather late (as usual). So instead of taking the Palmetto Highway, she proceeded to take the Okeechobee shortcut. As I started to doze off I became aware of the unfamiliar territory. The first sign appeared in the form of a poor black beggar. This sight is NOTHING unusual for Miami. Mother lowered the window and gave the poor man a bit of money. As the houses began to grow more shanty and the gangster started crowding each passing streets I began to curse Google maps under my breath.


Earlier in the evening mother had tried to find a direction in Google but it led her directly to an address in Louisiana. This seemed like an early premonition of the untrustworthy of such a program. Yet, mother chose to follow its directions. My report on NOTHING had become rather dangerous. Mother started to sweat beneath her white blouse and I began to laugh nervously while looking for any familiar landmark. Mother gave a sharp “U” turn as we fled in the same direction we had come from. By now it was far too late to go to church thus we opted to go to Applebee’s to celebrate our narrow escape.

As I look back on my trip, I cannot but feel pity for the poor black men from that neighborhood. Their neighborhood was the only one cursed with the Metrorail’s presence looming over the horizons. They have always been marginalized not just by whites but by Hispanics, Muslims and Asians. They have always had the short end of the stick, as the saying goes. In comparison to them, I must say I live like a Queen. I may have a crappy air conditioner, a leaking water heater, but at least I do not have to worry about being mugged.

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