Have you ever traveled somewhere and felt like you've landed in an episode of the Twilight Zone? Me too. In fact, it just happened to me last week while in Florida for a conference. I'd only been to Florida a handful of times: the obligatory Clearwater Beach spring break, a couple-a work trips to Orlando. You know, the usual. When I think of Florida, I mainly think of Key West, as I go there every two years on a family getaway. Of course, after this excursion to Tampa last week I realized that viewing Florida through the Key West lens is akin to thinking that you've gotten the feel of New York state if you've ever walked in midtown Manhattan.
In the world of journalism, three is the magic number. Three examples of a trend means you can legitimately call it as such, for instance. So consider, if you will, these three pieces of evidence which shall prove beyond a reasonable doubt that either someone was filming me for an episode of Candid Camera, or that Florida and Megan just don't mix well.
1. My plane lands in Miami, and the typical mayhem ensues as people whip off their seatbelts and stand up, craning their neck to the side because of the overhead bins. This always makes me laugh, as if standing up immediately is really going to get you out of the plane that much faster. Even though the plane has stopped, we're still on the runway and haven't reached our gate, so the flight attendant nicely asks everyone to take their seat. Everyone does, except for two guys who remain standing in the aisle a few rows ahead of me. The flight attendant, in a slightly icier tone, reminds them that everyone needs to take a seat, please. That just leaves one guy standing. Finally, the flight attendant becomes downright testy, as she walks up to the guy and says "are you not wondering why everyone else is sitting down? Please take your seat!" Finally, that does the trick, as the guy looks for an empty seat (who knows where he originally came from, but apparently it was too far back in the plane for his liking) and focuses on the empty middle seat beside me of course. He squeezes himself past my lap and sits, leaning into me. When we finally do get to our gate, and the seatbelt sign comes off, he immediately whips his off, stands up, and starts moving toward the aisle. There isn't any room for him to do so, since, well, I'm sitting there, so I decide I can either push him back or just get out of his way. I opt for the latter and stand in the aisle behind our row so he can get by. Just as I'm puzzling over what this guy's deal is, though, and shaking my head at another fellow across the way who has witnessed this and is laughing with me, an older guy starts yelling at me in a thick accent because apparently I'm in his way and he can't get to his bag. Meanwhile, no one has even started moving off the plane, so it's not like I'm preventing anyone from really getting anywhere. Was I missing something? I felt like I had just landed in a different country, where I didn't know the proper etiquette for getting off the plane.
Once we have successfully de-planed as they call it in the airline biz, I decide a margarita sounds delightful as I wait for my next flight to Tampa. Of course, I sit there for what seems like 20 minutes while the servers sit around and fold napkins and chat, and finally I ask the bartender if I can order from him, and he says I need to wait for the server. I'm used to super-slow service in the laid-back land of Portland, but this takes the cake. Once a margarita is finally placed in front of me, I call my boyfriend and whisper to him that something weird is going on with Miami. Little did I realize the madness had only begun.
2. I arrive at my hotel in Tampa, and the manager tells me that my room is a two-bedroom suite but could I check out of the room tomorrow and he'll move me to a smaller one. No problem. When I enter the room, I'm immediately relieved that I'm only going to be here one night. It's a two-bedroom, two-bathroom suite, which sounds luxurious but really just ends up being creepy. I don't know about you, but I prefer smaller spaces in which to conduct my sleeping. I don't like several rooms, and I certainly don't like empty extra bedrooms. You see, I have a big imagination. And I can also freak myself out pretty easily. My childhood friend, Andy, and I used to play this game where one of us would sit in her bedroom with the lights off and the other one would take their time before bursting into one of the two entrances to her bedroom (that was the kicker, that you didn't know from where the bursting would commence). Being in this room was like playing that game, only there wasn't anyone in on it to laugh with. Throughout my first sleepless night, I kept imagining that I'd open my bedroom door to see the other bedroom door wide open, or to see a light from underneath the door. I kept my door my locked and the bathroom light on.
The next morning, I happily rolled my luggage to the front desk, relieved to be rid of my spooky room. That afternoon when I returned at my hotel to check back in after a day of sightseeing, though, they mysteriously gave me the exact same room number. Seems that the hotel was now booked solid and that was the only one left. It was like Hotel Florida...you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave, mwha ha ha ha. I put on a brave face and entered the elevator, luggage in tow, to the 15th floor once again. But even if you think I've been over-reacting at my too-big room, you have to admit, there's something creepy about this hallway (pictured here, with my room door at the end of the hallway). Something, well, Shining-esque about it. I mean, c'mon, LOOK at it!
I could have asked to change rooms, but I didn't want to jinx anything. I mean, what if my new room was creepier than my first one? So I decided to befriend the room, and just locked my bedroom door every night and that was that. But I still can't figure out some things. Like why every time I took a shower, I would hear a sound like a doorbell. The first time this happened, I thought there was someone at the door, and I even got out to check, thinking I'd see the cleaning crew on the other end of the peephole. No one was there. The next morning, I thought it might be an alarm, although since I showered at different times of the day that didn't make sense either. My third explanation was that maybe this was a new Green Hotel system, where they'd sound an alarm if you're taking up too much water, but I couldn't find any notecards backing up this fact. Okay, now you're going to think I'm making this up, but I also heard voices, like a radio that would cut in and out every morning, except I unplugged the radio and it still happened.
Let's just say that when it came time for me to roll my luggage out of there for good, I wasn't sad to go. (And I was relieved that unlike Hotel California, they let me check out...AND leave!)
3. The final piece of evidence that Florida is messing with me has to do with politics. I'm not a super-political person by nature. I vote Democratic, I feel strongly on certain issues, but I don't relish getting into debates about it. After all, I've lived in liberal bubbles of NYC and Portland for the past 16 years, so I rarely meet anyone who doesn't feel the same way I do. When I walk down my street to the post office or the bank, there are people selling Obama t-shirts and buttons. The Obama volunteer headquarters are three blocks away from my house. It's All Blue, All The Time around here. But while walking around Tampa, I actually saw my first McCain sign. And then another. And then an entire neighborhood filled with them. While out with some old friends that night, I commented on it...and then realized that they're Republican and are so pro-life that they believe Roe v. Wade should be reversed, and they'd vote for a candidate strictly on the pro-life issue. This took me by such surprise, seeing as these are intelligent, funny, interesting, and cool guys, that I just assumed they would be like-minded. I was so caught off-guard that I couldn't even formulate an argument; instead, I was like a deer in headlights--a crying deer, it turns out, because I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom for some deep breaths after the tears started rolling (okay, laugh if you wish, I've never been accused of being non-emotional). I became paranoid--I mean, if these cool guys could think this way, who else does? My mind raced back to my 20th year high school reunion this summer, and I wondered, oh my God, is X Republican? Is Y pro-life? Who ELSE is on the "other" side? The next day, determined to escape Tampa, I rented a car and went to St. Petersburg, where I walked up and down the main drag trying to find the Obama headquarters, so I could proudly display an Obama button. If anything, it made me less complacent in my liberal bubble, and more determined to paint the country blue on Tuesday.
Let's see...plane-pushers, haunted hotel rooms, and right-wingers? I think I'll stick to Key West or bust when it comes to the Sunshine State next time, thanksabunch.
Megan
