I’ve talked a little recently about how miserable summer here can be. And while many Miami summers are uneventful and sometimes fun, I’d like to share with you all the story of my first – and certainly most miserable – summer in South Florida.

BURNED OUT PARADISE

Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I found myself stuck in Miami between my junior and senior years at University of Miami. My lease at the fraternity house had expired, but given it was the only place I had a key to in the entire city, I decided to make it my temporary residence. This, of course, was not known by the fraternity’s housing corporation since I was not, in fact, paying any actual “rent” on the house.

THAT OLD MAN, HE’S A REAL MOTHERF***R

During my first week, our fraternity’s handyman, a leathered old man who sounded a little like Jack Nicholson trying to do a John Wayne impression, became aware of my presence in the house.

“You better get outta here soon,” he hissed at me, “or things are gonna get real miserable.”

And miserable they got.

I spent each day locked in my room until I knew he was either out in his car (presumably eating banana bread and shooting heroin) or had left for the day. Some days I was not successful and he’d spot me and hiss at me again to stop squatting in the house. He figured out which room I was staying in and each morning would push a heavy piece of furniture like an armoire or bookcase in front of my door so I couldn’t leave.  Fortunately, I spent most of my time that summer at the gym and was able to move them.

When he found that this was not making me leave he cut the cable television, then, intermittently, the power, and frequently the air conditioning. Miami summers are not fun without power, TV, or A/C. Unless you are a cockroach. They apparently loved it since I met 5 or 6 new ones every day.


COMMUTING IS FOREVER IN THE STEAMY IN THE AUGUST RAIN

The only place I could find work was at the newly-opened Dave and Buster’s at Dolphin Mall. Not only did this particular location tend to attract older, working-class Hispanics from the area who thought 10% was an appropriate tip, but for some reason it also attracted the deaf. Like literally, half my customers couldn’t hear. And if you thought old Hispanics didn’t tip, you’ve never served the deaf.

I had to commute every day around 4, just as a thunderstorm would roll over the already-jam -packed Palmetto Expressway. This would have been fine had I had a transportation option that featured working air conditioning. My choice during the commute was to leave the windows up and sweat through my work clothes, or roll them down and be soaked by rain. Depending on my mood, I did both.

DON’T THINK I’LL EVER COME BACK TO THIS HOUSE AGAIN

In addition to hiding from the handyman and soaking myself to wait tables for less than $100 a night, I looked for apartments in South Beach for the fall, which is always an adventure. I also got alcohol poisoning and ended up in the hospital on 4th of July, only to turn around and work a 10-hour shift at Dave and Buster’s that day. My employment at D & B ended when I got food poisoning from my employee Chicken Parm,  and they refused to reimburse me for my medical clinic visit.

Mercifully, the summer ended in early August as I found a horrendously-overpriced apartment in South Beach that I only moved into so that I could get out of the roach-infested hot box that was the fraternity house. I did my annual 2 weeks on active duty with my reserve unit in Hialeah, went and visited my family on the west coast, and came back for senior year. I vowed then and there it would be my last summer in Miami. But I am a stronger person now.

Matt Meltzer is a featured columnist at Miami Beach 411. Matt’s column appears Tuesdays. See more articles by Matt Meltzer >