I come from Washington State. Western Washington, even. And I thought I knew what real rain was.
Then I moved to Florida.
I realized I had no idea what rain really was. All you Washingtonians…you think you know…but you have… No. Idea.
You can’t HANDLE the rain!!
So the other day, my co-worker Camille and I were going to a party a few blocks away from our office. The people throwing the party were borrowing my work’s sound system, so we were in charge of bringing the speakers and reciever. I told Camille I would run over to my apartment and get my car from the parking garage, and be back to pick her up in fifteen minutes, so come down with the speakers.
This is the route we were taking, by the way. Down Biscayne then then a couple blocks down Brickell. It was two miles. Literally. 2.2 miles according to Google Maps.
So anyway, I go downstairs in my skirt and blouse and heels, carrying my purse and computer. It had been, if not sunny, then at least dry and reasonably warm that morning. Imagine my surprise when I step outside and there was three inches of water on the ground! At first, I was very optimistic. I pestered the valet for a plastic bag to put over my computer (yes…I was a bad girl and didn’t bring my laptop to work in its case with me that day. I was in a hurry). The valet had no bag. I was torn. I seriously live…like not even a thirty second walk. Literally across the street. But to get there, I had to go down a steep decline, and around a corner. And this was tile. And tile is very slipper when wet. And I was wearing high heels. And there was three inches of water on the ground. (For those of you who think I’m exaggerating…just wait.).
So while I am pestering the valet (the one who likes to whistle at me every time I walk to work…drat. Now I have officially acknowledged his existance), two guys were standing near me and overheard me. They must have taken pity on me, and offered to give me a ride to wherever I was going.
“Where are you going?” this guy asks. “Right over there.” I pointed at my building. How embarrassing. But Ididn’t care. It was too rainy, and I didn’t want to walk. So the guy and his friend (apparently they had been meeting with the realty place in the Grand looking for to buy a condo) drove me the thirty feet from the covered valet loop at the Grand to the covered valet look at my building. (Yes, I realize getting in a car with two strange men probably wasn’t a very good idea…but I could always throw the door open and swim away if I had to. Also, I was desperate.)
Once I got my car and picked up Camille, we set off to drive through downtown. Silly, I thought that streets in Miami would have, oh I don’t know, drains, maybe. Nope.
It took us two hours to go the two miles. It was insane. Just look at this!! And this wasn’t on the beach or anything, either. This was mid-town Miami.
We had to drop off a grant on the way to the party, so Camille (bless her heart) had to get out in this weather and run to the building! People weren’t even remotely following the lanes in the road, probably because half of the road was too flooded to drive on. So finally I just pulled over to the side of the road, kind of up on the sidewalk, and put my flashers on, while Camille strapped on her flip flops and rolled up her pants and made a mad dash for it.
We saw people just sitting in their cars, with the water up to the windows, trapped. We saw people just wading through the water with the water up to their knees, or higher. It was madness.
I was real worried about flooding my engine.
I don’t actually know what that means.
But it sounds like something that would happen in weather like this. In a flood.
Camille and I just sat there in traffic with our mouths open, taking pictures out the window. The car was rocking gently, kind of like we were on a boat. I’m on a boat…. But it wasn’t fun. I was starting to get super worried about my car. What if the water got in the engine? Does that even matter to a car? I’m guessing it does, or else we would drive our cars underwater.
My car couldn’t have moved faster than two miles per hour, either. Seriously. I could have floored it and I still wouldn’t have moved. Not that I tried this. Maybe.
I’ve never seen rain the likes of this before. Ever. In my whole life. Especially in rain that had only collected after a couple of hours.
After we took these pictures, we ended up sitting in traffic until way past dark. In one instance we sat in the middle of an intersection with cars jammed around us pointed in all directions, listening to a symphony of honking horns. It was so relaxing. Just kidding.
It actually exhausts me just looking at these pictures. Thank god I had Camille there to talk to, and keep me from wearing out my horn. I have honked my horn more in Miami than I have ever, ever honked it before in my life. Whereas in Washington, honking a horn is more an alert, or a reprimand, or a warning, in Florida it’s more just like…something you do when you don’t have anything else to do. Sitting in traffic? Honk your horn. Just drivin’ down the road? Honk your horn. Someone eight cars in front of you hasn’t floored it across the intersection the second the light turned green? Honk your horn. Having a frustrating phone conversation with your sister’s best friend’s brother’s cousin? Honk your horn. Don’t like the way someone at the next car over is looking at you? Oh, yup, you guess it…Honk your horn. When I first got here, it contributed to my stress and anxiety. Why are you honking at me? I didn’t do anything! Now I just join in. It’s quite liberating, actually. Cathartic, even.
Just as a sidenote, what makes that noise of a horn on your car? Where does that noise come from? It’s the things you take for granted in life…I’m just saying.
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