The Florida Man Recovery Guide – A Gift from a Native Son || Frank Rodriguez

Florida. My home. I think of Florida every time I see a snowflake fall from the Connecticut sky. I think of Florida every time I hear a classmate complain about the New England heat. I think of Florida every chance I get because I love my state. The endlessness of the everglades, the white sand, and transparent waters are breathtaking.   

The national ambivalence to Florida may be perplexing for the Floridian diaspora. Why should anyone dislike Florida? We have Disney, we have oranges, we have coconuts and palm trees. The occasional hurricane defeats the serenity a bit, but not entirely. I think the major issue is something a tad more profound.  

The University of Miami, aka “Suntan U,” fills up every semester with students from across the country looking to party like it’s 1985. Errant alligators creeping into suburban pools is not uncommon. The invasive pythons of the everglades won’t stop reproducing long enough for animal control to clear them from the sewer systems. The MAGA movement is the political lifeblood of Florida Republicans. Beyond that, we have Ron “smiles like an asshole” DeSantis, suing Disney, the company that props up the sagging Floridia economy. Ron DeShithead also pushed through legislation which legally requires that educators “don’t say gay.” Say nothing of the Florida school board making it mandatory to teach slavery as being, at least partially, beneficial for its’ victims.   

Yep, we are getting into the sticky stuff. There is also the commonality of shootings and other violent crimes. The skyrocketing real estate prices. The poor medical care and facilities. The difficulty in securing property insurance because every insurer except the mob evacuated like a hurricane was brewing. The lack of vaccines, not that the Republicans of Florida (and damn it there are a lot of them), would put that crap in their bodies, meanwhile they chief Marlboro cigarettes and drink Mr. Pibb like the fountain soda dispenser is about to run dry.   

I digress. Florida also has issues with the bleached coral reefs. The overcrowded prisons. The dismal infrastructure. Among many, many glaring issues. Making love on the beaches of Miami seems awesome in the movies, until you do it and find some dumbass tourist had popped his Corona Light and left the cap right where you are doing the mattress mambo, beach style. Three stitches in the ass and you reconsider your attachment to Miami beaches.   

Say nothing of the man, the myth, the legend. The “Florida Man”. First appearing as a meme in the 2010s, the Florida man has been the product of wild crime stories since the early 80s when the titular Florida Man stole a police cruiser wearing only a red thong and, in his efforts to escape, drove directly into a canal. While sinking, Florida Man engaged in an hour-long standoff with police. The mythos of the Florida man is vast and still expanding. The first ever Florida Man Games were held in St. Augustine, Florida in August. The games featured such Florida Man past times as: evading the police, wrestling an alligator, drinking a lot of alcohol, and driving a WalMart scooter through an obstacle course, among others. Florida Man has become an integral part of Floridian Lore. The legend that never dies. For better or for worse, when you enter Florida, you are bound to meet Florida Man, at one point or another.  

Even we, the Florida diaspora, have within our very souls, a Florida Man. Waiting and hoping for a confrontation with police. Yet, the further away from Florida one moves, the greater one’s fear of extended prison time becomes. Fear not, my fellow Floridian, for though it is a spirit we can never truly exorcize, we can learn to control our internal Florida Man. Yes, you can be both proud of Florida, and not behave like a Florida Man. Take a deep breath with me now. Are you ready?  

Repeat after me, “I don’t particularly care for Mr. Pibb, or Ron ‘probably calls the cops on ethnic folks walking their dogs’ DeSantis.”  

Feel free to include, “Damnit Ron, you fucked it up,” and “rest in peace Jimmy Buffet,” in your initial exorcism.  

Now, I will guide you through the five simple steps to avoid becoming a Florida Man. Memorize what you can, fellow Floridian, because it can absolutely save your dignity someday.  

STEP 1: Admit you are a Florida Man. It’s okay, we’re all friends here. Admit that renting a car, and stopping the payments seems like a promising idea to you. It’s tough, you can’t help it. Then, admit that using the car to give Uber rides for 2 months seems like a solid plan. It’s okay, Florida Man, it seemed like a clever idea to me too.  

STEP 2: Don’t be an asshole and buy a cowboy hat. There are two reasons for this. The first and minor reason being you don’t want to get high on crack cocaine, strip naked except for the cowboy hat, and use a hammer to assault a woman riding a bicycle demanding she give you a crack pipe. The second and major reason is you will look fucking stupid regardless. This is Florida, not Texas. 

STEP 3: When in public, think. Should you need to take the Browns to the Superbowl, make sure you leave your eight ball of cocaine at home. Should the door fail to open in your porta-shitter and should you need help, the cops will come. That is bad for several reasons. Predominantly the cocaine. So, just leave the cocaine on your mirror at home.   

STEP 4: Don’t operate a hot dog stall without a license. I know, this one seems rather specific. But Florida Men know the draw of the phallic beef sticks and we want to sell them. But we must fight the urge because the cops will try to shut us down. When they do, the Florida Man in you will smack the copper across the face with the beef sword and catch a felony in the process. 

STEP 5: Accept that the unknown should sometimes remain just that, unknown. Don’t drive your truck through the gate of the American Space Force compound. I know, you had to announce the impending battle between aliens and dragons. I also know that Biden told you to do it, telepathically. But you must refrain. Not all heroes wear capes, my Floridian friend. Some of us just prefer not to wear handcuffs.   

A small addendum to step 5. Does it shock anyone that the “Space Force” base is in central Florida? Weird things with stupid names often find themselves in that neck of the woods.  

How are you feeling? Confused, tired, sad, annoyed. Stop, put down the Pibb and reread the steps. Feel free to add to them. I could have written enough steps to service the Burj Khalifa! What matters here is, you do not become the Florida Man. Our state deserves better. Whacky hijinks aside, there is a lot about Florida to be proud of. Why do you think all the old people from New England move there to die? I assume it’s a tax thing, but the beautiful weather and scenery probably helps. Ron “scare the shit out of children” DeSantis will soon expire from the limelight and Florida will hopefully disappear from the headlines with him. We have a reputation to repair and that will be hard to do from your local penitentiary.