I left the office happy and hungry at 2:00 PM. I pointed my rented SUV east and drove to the edge of the world and parked. A quaint beach front restaurant was waiting for me so I slipped inside and ordered a stuffed tomato salad and iced tea. Gertrude the waitress had been working there for the past 250 years and she gave me possibly the worst service ever. I think the Alzheimer was sinking in because she brought me the wrong order not once but three times. Each time the table next to me indicated that the lunch entrees belonged with them. Finally she got mad at me and asked me what DID I order if those other orders weren’t mine. OK I guess I had to prove my order. I said again slowly in her good ear (I picked the one with the smallest hearing aid) a tuna stuffed tomato. Gertrude went back to the kitchen and when she returned she told me that no one had ordered a tuna stuffed tomato. Hello, you are the only waitress and I am one of 6 customers currently in your charge and you can’t remember if you took my order? I caught myself before I went red and thought I would just agree with her and see what lunch I could get.
I ended up with a seafood salad and an iced tea. It’ll work and I wanted to get out and explore a bit before I returned the rental and boarded another fine American jetliner. One of the other small lunch groups was talking loudly so I picked up the name of my hometown in upstate New York. They had retired from the Watervliet Arsenal and moved to Melbourne 25 years ago. I shared my Latham Circle driving horror stories and paid my bill. Lunch was salvaged and I even got to touch a bit of home, metaphorically speaking. Belly and heart warm and full I cruised around taking in the large homes and secluded coves that line the Florida coast. Melbourne is a bay so the residents get even more places to build near the water. I stumbled across a small park dedicated to the Postman who once ran the mail across the bay in a boat each day. The park had maybe four parking spots and the gazebo could seat maybe eight. Not a place to bring the family but perfect for a lone man with deep thoughts. I parked and thunked, thinked, thanked, oh you know what I mean.
Status check, mike check, test test. Yeah this thing is on! After about 30 minutes of some serious mental flossing I was ready to see what else Florida had to show me. As I worked my way back inland I drove past a sign for “Live Racing”. The black silhouetted aminal on the sign was not the noble steed, nope it was a dog. Yes the oft lampooned sport of lesser kings was alive (sort of) and well (sort of) in Melbourne. I had to know more so I pulled a Uey and secured a parking spot in the very less than capacity utilized automotive staging area. I went the extra 10 feet and went for free parking. I soon realized that the extra 10 feet I was willing to walk was a major distance for most of the park’s patrons. Next up admission, 50 cents, yes 4 bits, half a buck gets you in all day, hooray! In front of the admission window was a row of benches and a bank of TV screens showing the races from within and a bunch of other race tracks. I learned that you could avoid the stiff admission fee and watch in the cool shade of the foyer and still place bets. Yes some patrons will apparently drive all the way to the track park free, skip the admission and make bets just inches from the real action. Seniors often have their own reasons. Maybe that 50 cents will cover a losing bet?
I needed to see the inside so I parted with my quarters and slipped into air conditioned purgatory. It was like heaven’s waiting room, lot’s of old people milling around real slow. Cheap food and cheap sport make for retirement fun. The huge glass enclosed grandstand was nearly empty. The rails along the track stayed clear and free of people as well. All the action was inside the big betting parlor ringed by fast food options that had long disappeared from the rest of civilized America. Fried dough, fried cheese, cheese corndogs and Schlitz on tap. Where was I? The room reeked of Ben Gay and stale beer. I didn’t feel comfortable at all. The various tables looked up at me and I wondered what I was doing. Snapping pictures with my digital camera I was documenting their world.
The race and place were all too sad for me. The dogs arrive in trailers that resemble mini-prisons pulled by pickup trucks that belched white and black. The track itself had an adoption agency for the losers. What kind of sport gives away the losers to the departing fans? Not a totally bad idea in today’s super suspect world of professional sports. The event was a non event and the fans were non fans. Even the athletes had to be tricked into chasing a mechanical rabbit around a small oval. This was ghetto white trash blue collar double wide ho hum no fun for me. I got the impression it was just something to do for many of the retired patrons. I saw a few grandchildren trying to pretend like this was fun. Their torture did show through each time the hounds flew past.
So I took some pictures and headed back to the car. I needed a cheer up. The next landmark to blur past my window was the Sheriff’s Work Farm. I didn’t know these places still existed either. Mess up in Melbourne and you could end up out on the chain gang? For real? Yes, for real. I used to love the movie “Cool Hand Luke” but faced with a real work camp just 50 yards away I lowered my speed and buckled my belt. Why take chances? The I wondered who would be sentenced to such a place in such a place? Grandma writes a bad check or Grandpa forgets feed the meter? Off to the work farm where Grandma is forced to knit 18 hours a day while Grandpa fixes clock radios that would be cheaper to replace than rewire. I am only guessing. Such interesting food for thought and a glimpse into a worlds I want to avoid. In the end I found that some secrets are best kept secret and real entertainment does not come at the expense of others. I also learned that if we take care of each other then we all win and lastly don't play with the tape.
Peace,
Sean