You know, in Florida there has always been a fine line between really fun and really stupid. I don’t know why that is. And I say this as a third generation Floridian. It means I can say it without having anyone read into too deeply into it. Look, we all know it’s true. And no one can say for sure what causes it.
It just is. That’s Florida.
It causes us to do crazy things. Like try to tickle alligators to see if they laugh. Drive at incredibly high speeds on the interstate while hanging out the window. Buy expensive houses on the coast. Go to Disney World in August.
Let me repeat: Go to Disney World in the HEAT of August. The blistering, driving, pounding, unrelenting heat. The kind that will turn the weak into beef jerky in a matter of minutes. And because a pandemic is still going on, will mean you have to wear masks in various locations. One more layer of fabric to keep in the heat.
This is what we decided to do as a family last week. One last hoorah before the start of the school year. A quick overnight trip to Orlando and a day in the park. Crowds were supposed to be slightly thinner, and average temperatures only slightly higher than the surface of the sun.
Standing at the entrance to Liberty Square for the ropes to drop and the hordes to race for roller coasters, I was drenched in sweat at 9 a.m. All around me was an odd assemblage of humanity. Fathers loaded down in water bottles like desert nomads peddling H2O. People already scorched purple by the sun. Carrying fans. Towels. Blocks of ice.
“I’m pretty certain we’re going to die here today,” I remember thinking. “But until we do, it’s going to be fun!”
Floridians.
And off we went.
It wasn’t long before we were like heat-ravaged zombies. Dragging one leg behind us as we plodded around mumbling, “Powerade. Must … find … Powerade.”
And not just any flavor will do. See, my family might be in critical need of a sports drink to replenish their electrolytes, but they won’t drink anything unless it’s red. Flavor? Unknown. It’s just red. They could be running on fumes and about to succumb to the elements, but don’t bring a blue Powerade near them. Only red!
Which, for some strange reason, is the rarest drink to find in the park. It’s like a great scavenger hunt. We spent more time bouncing from refreshment stand to refreshment stand in search of sports drinks than on rides.
You start to feel like you’re hunting something on the black market. Acting shady and saying things like, “Hey buddy, got a red Powerade you can part with? Know where a guy can get a pallet or two? I’ve got cash and a half-eaten bag of cotton candy.”
At some point, a helpful passerby overheard us and stopped to say, “You know, I think I saw some over by the Winnie the Pooh ride,” and off we ran.
Honestly, I didn’t really mind the heat, or the torrential rains that storm in like they’re going to flood the Earth. It’s all part of being a Floridian. When the tourists start running for the hills or heading back to their hotels, we just kept going. We watched our weather radars while they posted pictures to Instagram. And when a big, red splotch of truly scary precipitation reared its ugly head, we knew to duck into Pirates of the Caribbean just in time.
Oh, and the heat. That Central Florida summer-time heat. When the sun has baked your 18th layer of suntan lotion to your skin like glaze on pottery. When your hair starts to sweat. When you can feel the squish of your shoes as the rubber begins to melt.
But you’re a Floridian! You’re made for this kind of weather. Bred for it. Your brain cells cooked away years ago. It’s why we try to tickle alligators, to see if they giggle. Or buy expensive houses on the beach, even when hurricanes are barreling down on us. And why we line-up at Disney World in August and revel as the Florida sun tries to crack us.
But we won’t crack. We’re Floridians! And we’ve got a line on a whole case of red Powerade. Which is just over by the Haunted Mansion. So, let’s run their fast before our shoes melt and the caked-on suntan lotion makes it too hard to move our joints.