Yesterday I awoke to the sound of my phone’s alarm clock at 5:30 AM. Yesterday was Tuesday. Yesterday I was still unemployed. Yesterday I had to be at the Miami River at 7:00 AM sharp. The following is the factual account of what happened yesterday in a three part series.
The bedroom was pitch black and artificially cold, thanks to air-conditioning, and my bed was so warm and soft, I convinced myself to stay just a few more minutes. As I tried to make myself fall asleep again I thought about not going. Afterall, who would notice? I didn’t volunteer my time for credit, for work or to impress a girl. And, frankly, 7:00 AM was an ungodly hour to start work. Nonetheless, I braved the cold tile and made a run for the bathroom. As to not be attacked by the boogie man who lives in my closet next to my Manolos.
While brushing my teeth I scrolled through my phone to find the email with the directions and dress code. Closed-toe shoes, jeans, hat, breakfast and lunch provided, no coffee. So many things wrong with each of the aforementioned, but it was too late at that point to turn back. The address was already mapped and I was dressed, in regulation clothes.
Nineteen minutes, door-to-door. Enough time to listen to a little Madonna and hate myself for not bringing a thermos with coffee. The feeling dissipated when I realized how beautiful the city looked right before dawn while driving on the 836.
Upon arriving at my destination, I noticed it was a community for low-income elderly people across from the site of the new baseball stadium or demolished Orange Bowl (depends how you look at it). In the darkness of the morning I’m able to see the signs, “Welcome To Hands on Miami”.
— To be continued —
Mari de Armas 