Island time

I suffer from a rare ailment rarely seen outside the Caribbean and the Deep South. Back home it's referred to as the Keys Disease. It can be considered a mental defect, philosophy or maybe one of the seven deadly sins~ sloth to those not initiated in our ways.

Symptoms include the ability to put off forever what was to be done yesterday, amazement of those who have a sense of urgency over anything other than fishing, tanning and drinking. One might hurry up and get on the boat for the opening for one of the many start of fishing seasons or might muster up the strength to make it to the bar on time for 2 for 1 happy hour prices or to get to the the store for hurricane supplies, but other than that, all bets are off.

People come to the islands to slow down and relax.They tend to develop high blood pressure and resentments. We locals embody the lifestyle the transplants seek. How many times have I waited on some northerner who expected me to jump for them and were surprised when I don't move as fast as they want. I once watched a man freak out in a Dunkin' Donuts and scream " Your slow asses would never get a job up where I am from!" We really don't care how you down up north. Manana is the slogan, mantra and battle cry against deadlines, expectations and responsibility. Excuses and justifications are perfected to an art form judged on creativity. Transplants either accept this malady that affects the island or quickly leave.

Those who arrive by cruise ship tend to bustle quickly in search of trinkets, store bought memories. The waiters and shop clerks chain-smoking and gossiping in doorways can spot at 50 paces the ones that will succumb to heat stroke first, those traveling at breakneck speed, unaccustomed to walking, the strength of the sun and 100 percent humidity. Despite color or origin, these hapless souls are sometimes referred as fat white puffy people. We try our best to empty their wallets within the designated four hour layover.

I moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, three days after arriving I was out on an evening stroll, enjoying the sights of my new neighborhood. I heard someone quickly approaching behind me. Zipping quickly past me was a man with a club foot and a cane who shouted with anger as he past me by " CAN YOU WALK ANY SLOWER?"