Sonnie Looking for Sonny Crockett in Sunny Miami
When I was offered an internship in Miami, I squeaked with joy and happiness. It was certainly a dream come true, a sunny dream full of young and energetic people. Immediately I had vivid images and fantasies of me with Don Johnson (a.k.a. Sonny Crockett--ever noticed how almost similar his name is to Don Juan?) in a tight, pink T-shirt walking on Miami Beach in front of the art deco district. I knew I was up for an experience that would make an eternal impression in my memory--but I never could have known what kind.
The people I worked with during my internship were the weirdest kind. Instead of being helpful, they kept books and information I needed from me. I found out later most people felt threatened by me because I was sent from their head office. "Head office" was a big no-no phrase. The words made people creep into the shadows and hide.
They thought I was a spy, so one told me anything. They hardly talked to me, yet I could hear them all whisper to each other in their cubicles and on the phone all day long. But when I entered a cubicle to start a conversation, all was silent and excuses of being busy came up.
The manager I was supposed to turn to in case of problems or questions went through two secretaries during my first week and made a third one cry on her first day. So much for comfort there.
None of my colleagues or co-workers kept their promises for dinners, movies or other plans involving hanging out and getting to know each other. When I complained to my friends in Europe that nobody kept their promises or showed up, they told me that maybe I was too demanding or getting the dates or times wrong when we made dinner plans.
But I just wanted to meet people--most of all Sonny Crockett. After a few weeks my friends supposed it must be the American way even though I had no idea what way that was.
"Americans are much more individualistic, don't need too much company and like to do things by themselves," they said.
But on Miami Beach, on the streets and in restaurants, I saw people joined in groups just as anywhere else in the world. It made me look even harder for Sonny Crockett.
Instead, I met a 59-year-old Colombian man in a metro mover. We had a conversation and I told him that I had not met many people in Miami and wanted to meet new people, preferably my age. "Well, don't I have something for you!" was his answer.
He told me there was a big party and all the young people from Miami would be there. I asked for his phone number so I could be informed of the specific time and date. It turned out that the party was on the date when my Belgian friend Paul would be visiting me too, so thought it would be a lot of fun for both of us. Paul and I got ready for the big night, wearing casual outfits. The Colombian man came to pick us up in his pick-up and off we went.
When we had to pay a $60 entrance fee per person I should have known something was wrong. When a servant looked strangely at our clothes, alarms went off in my head.
We entered. The room was full of old people, Golden Girls age, in gala clothes. And they all looked at us. The youngest one was definitely the Colombian; the rest looked as old as his parents.
"What is this?" I exclaimed embarrassed.
"I did not know," he whispered sheepishly.
Yet I had the feeling he knew all along. What was worse, we were extremely underdressed. Before I could explode in anger we were led to tables and sat down. The $60 would not be a total waste--we had drinks and a luxurious meal to enjoy.
After dinner we wanted to leave, but noticed our great friend was totally drunk. I did not want to let him drive and tried to take away his keys but "no woman shall drive my car" was all he said.
We were in the middle of nowhere, it was dangerously dark outside and I had no clue where we were. We had no choice. Against all my principles, I stepped into a car with a total drunk.
Instead of home, we ended up in Calle Ocho, the most criminal area of Miami. At first I had not noticed anything but then the grave and sinister looks of all the car drivers made me aware. Paul locked the door on our side and turned pale.
We were both warned before we came to Miami, "Whatever you do, stay away from Calle Ocho!" And here we were in the middle of Calle Ocho and our friend was sweating and cursing and trying to find a way out of there. Where was Sonny Crockett when I needed him most?
After what I thought was an eternity of a terrifying drive--our "friend" was so drunk he could not drive in a straight line--he delivered us home. When I got out, I hissed at him: "I hate you. I never want to see you again." I never did.
My next friend was a woman named Sheila. Her husband left her when she was 60 for a younger version. We lived in the same apartment building and we started talking and decided to go to the movies together. I will never forget when we went to see Gladiator. When Russell Crowe's wife was killed in the movie, Sheila started crying and sniffed throughout the whole movie. I started crying too. I had no clue why she was so sad but I cried for my fate, sitting with a 60-year-old woman in a movie theatre and not with someone like Sonny Crockett.
There were a lot of days during my stay in Miami that I was walking in the streets and met many people, strangers, passerbys but not the one I was looking for: Sonny Crockett.
I met a beggar woman who was wearing far better clothes than, yet she asked me for $10. $10 !!! I was so flabbergasted that all I could exclaim was: "But I am from The Netherlands," as if that was some kind of excuse not to give any money.
"Poor you!" was her answer and then before I realized what happened, she gave me a hug and her hair touched mine. Oh, my God. What if she has lice, I thought. I ran to my apartment and washed my hair for about an hour, all the while thinking: "What does she mean, poor me, what's wrong with the Netherlands?"
Maybe there was not much wrongm but was it only that people did not know where it was?
"The Netherlands, where is that?" was a common question. "In Europe." I thought everybody knew that.
"Europe, where's that?"
"Are you kidding me? Europe, the continent."
"Oh, I remember now, The Netherlands, that's in Australia, right?"
I bet if I had met Sonny Crocket, he would have known exactly where Europe was located.
Although my Miami experience was not at all I thought it would be, it made an everlasting impression--even without Sonny Crockett.