33130: My Neighborhood’s Not That Bad, Is It?

My mom called me last week asking for my ZIP code. Silly me, I thought she was going to mail me a present or something. I should have known better.

“33130,” I told her.

“Oh, wonderful,” she says. “I’m reading this article online and apparently you live in the third worst neighborhood in America.”

Not in Florida, mind you. Not even in the city of Miami. But in the whole friggin’ country. I looked out my window at the semi-dilapidated apartment building across the street, and off to the towers of Brickell in the background, and wondered how this could be. Sure, I had the occasional transient walking past. And the occasional morning where I’d wake up to a domestic dispute happening in the middle of the street. But I never heard gunfire. I’d have to get in my car to buy crack. I saw “The U,” those neighborhoods looked way worse. I was very confused.

Apparently this study, from that resident expert in civic ratings that is Forbes, was based on a resident’s odds of being the victim of a crime. Which, in my ‘hood was 1 in 4.  And if you count car break-ins this seems a little low. But aside from that, this area wasn’t so bad, was it?

I mean, ok, I guess there was that time that someone broke into my car to steal a cup full of quarters and some CDs. Completely ignoring the gym bag with $1500 in cash in the trunk (I was bartending, don’t get any ideas). Or that other time my car window got smashed but the thieves didn’t find anything worth stealing. Or that other time my apartment got broken into and I lost $250, a watch, and some Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream. But those aren’t really crimes. Those are instances of me being too stupid to bring anything I owned of any value with me wherever I went.

Then, I guess, there was that girl who left my apartment in a drunken huff at 2 a.m. one night, despite my strong admonishments against it. Eventually I gave up trying to stop her, but she returned less than three minutes later with a frightening looking transient in tow. She proceeded to hide behind my couch as said transient banged on my doors and windows demanding that she come out. Only when a friend of hers showed up and threatened him with a loaded gun did he leave. But as soon as the girl left with her friend, the transient came back.  I had to bribe him with the dregs of a plastic jug of Popov so that he’d stay away. And he did. So as long as you have vodka to ward off the homeless, this area is fine. Right?

I suppose there was that other time a girl came to pick me up for a date in her fancy convertible, only to have the 8-year-old boys from the building next door approach her car soliciting oral sex. She immediately called me saying, “An 8-year old just asked me to suck his dick. I’m going to circle the block, call me when you’re ready.” But, I mean, she was a blonde white girl driving around with her top down. What did she expect? Clearly, this was not the fault of the neighborhood.

Hmmm. So maybe this neighborhood is not so nice. Maybe Forbes is right, and I’d be better off in the South Bronx or East St. Louis. But walking down the street, it’s hard to imagine that there are only two areas of the country worse than this. I guess “bad” is only in the eye of the beholder.

Related Categories: About the Author: Matt Meltzer is a featured columnist at Miami Beach 411. See more articles by Matt Meltzer. See more articles by Matt Meltzer Was This Post Helpful? Please Share It With Others! Tweet

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"33130: My Neighborhood’s Not That Bad, Is It?"

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