Miami-Globe

So I drove to Miami, AZ this past weekend. It was one of those trips where my expectations were a little higher than the should be and I didn't prepare as much as I should have. I rolled into town late in the morning and tried to find that "happening" road with all the shops and restaurants and the visitor's center that hands out the kitchy maps that outline the routes to all the best destinations (marked by smiling cacti and sombreros). The first attraction I noticed was all the easy spots to parallel park in. The dilapidated buildings at the tops of the surrounding hills loomed over me as I locked my car, removed my iPod and head unit, threw bags over valuables, and all that other paranoid white people superstitious nonsense, and walked toward the first cafe I could find. Before I could enter, a face that had great potential to be broad and welcoming came at me like a snow plow. "You look like you don't have a direction." I admitted that he was correct. "Are you interested in the antique shops?" I nodded. "How about the cliff dwellings up rt. 88?" I nodded faster, trying to stimulate a more comfortable upbeat tone. "How about something to eat?" As I unloaded a twangy request for restaurant recommendations, he cut me off. "Didn't you visit our chamber of commerce website? It's really... informative." I lied and said I was just passing through and was on my way to Globe, the next town over. He stopped looking at me and said, "We share their website. www.globemiamichamberofcommerce.com. We put a lot of time and effort into keeping that website up to date." I told him that I hadn't had the time to research it, and asked for suggestions for some Mexican food. He gestured towards my messenger bag, "Go to our website on your iPhone. You'll find my reviews of local dining options contained in the message board designated for 'Restaurants', which is divided by genre of cuisine. Just follow the Dining & Nightlife link, you'll know when you get there." I was a little freaked out, so I stuttered something of an explanation of why I may have appreciated whatever it was he told me as I walked into an antique shop with my hand in my bag. After a few antique shops and some old framed newspapers I learned a little about the history of the area. I went online as I was walking down the street and a windswept expression of involuntary surprise anchored by a neck that would take a marble 5 minutes to roll down approaches me, "What do you think you're doin'?" As I started to reply, he said, "You're not about to post to Facebook about how ironic it is that we used to be a mining town and now our main industry is antiques, are ye?" How did he know that? "That's what everyone does when they go through her. You'd know that if you looked in the blog section of our chamber of commerce website." Just then, the first old man and a few indistinct friends approached and he said, "You haven't eaten yet, have you? Have you even looked at our website yet?" I started backing up and said I had to go, somehow unable to jettison my own cumbersome politeness. "Sorry, can't let you do that." Everyone stood silent as a young ranger with a flat shovel forehead which obscured everything else about him informed me, "This area is quarantined, which these kind folks were trying to help you learn. Maybe it's time you look at our website." Quarantined? What have I gotten myself into? They helped me navigate through their website, and it was very well laid out. As far as the "quarantine" situation, it was complicated. They unearthed a unique mineral that attracted a certain species of bacteria and caused it to mutate; anybody who spend more than two hours in the town would have to be tested. The ranger said, "I'm afraid that before you leave you'll have to be screened for Laffybatts." "Laffybatts?!" I asked. "Yes, Laffybatts. It is a potentially fatal condition." As I stifled a giggle, one of the townsfolk said, "Hold that laugh, buckaroo, my 3 year old daughter died from a case of them laffybatts, and so did..." He trailed off, looking towards the ranger. He said, "That's... not important now. The important thing is to get you tested.

The doctor's office was empty, and I wondered if he had much to do other than test people for Laffybatts. He took me to the only cleanroom with wood paneling I've ever seen and drew a little blood. I asked if it was curable and nobody answered. The doctor returned with the same blank expression he had when he plunged the needle into my arm. "It's Laffybatts, and I'm afraid it's... terminal." I started grabbing for things before I knew what I could be grabbing for and yelling at people before I could breathe... then I just slouched down into a chair. The ranger said, "Well, there is one known cure." After an expectant moment of silence, he continued. "We would have to... light you on fire and throw you into the tar pits." The doctor burst into agreement, "Yes, the tar pits are full of laffybatts, and if you present live laffybatts with a complete surface area of burnt laffybatts, it could work! I've been doing tests on lighting infected javelina on fire and had some success!" As I protested their logic they showed me the documentation on the chamber of commerce website, which was formatted very professionally. As they doused me in kerosene, the ranger said, "Are you sure this is a good idea?" He was looking at me, and I rehashed what they told me, referring to the data on their website. The ranger continued in the same tone, "Why do you believe the website?" I responded, "Well, why else would it be there?" Then the first old man I spoke to said, "Maybe to teach people a lesson about believing their instincts and experience instead of whatever they read on the internet. Maybe then you would have learned to appreciate our fine town." I protested, "But that doesn't make any sense! You told me repeatedly to look at the website before I even stepped foot into... which I didn't do, I walked around and learned about the town myself! I trusted my instincts many times before even looking at your website!" The ranger said, "Alright fine, we just like dousing people in kerosene for kicks. Plus it's a favor for old man Pitters. He owns the tar pits and nobody ever comes by to visit them. But please feel free to post on our message board about what you say to your friends and coworkers to explain why you smell like petroleum."