The pilot

I saw a pilot checking into the Hyatt at the same time I reached the counter. He had a really tight behind and broad shoulders. But I wasn’t in the mood for a quickie in Orlando, Florida during an overnight on may way down to Fort Lauderdale for the cruise. So I got my room key and went upstairs to unpack.

I didn’t really need to unpack a week’s worth of clothing for an overnight, but I’m glad I did. I’d thrown everything into the suitcase this morning in Atlanta, eager to be on my way, so I knew my shirts would be wrinkled. But after I got everything straightened out, I realized something. I forgot to pack shorts. Can’t go to Florida, let alone a Carribean cruise without shorts. So I high-tailed it to the nearest mall, The Mall of the Millenia, and dropped $200 on four pair of Tommy Hilfiger shorts. Well, I’m set for the spring and summer.

I couldn’t believe the crowds at the mall. Packed like chickens at an unregulated Tysons’ farm in Arkansas. A Saturday evening, when fine music and fine wines are waiting to be experienced, and half the population of Florida is spending its time walking by Abercrombie, Fitch, the Gap, the Apple Store, and Blomingdale’s. I sighed, looking for a restaurant. All I found was a Cheesecake Factory.

The lowest of the low. Aside from the Ford Expedition, nothing is more indicative of what’s wrong with America that the Cheesecake Factory. Low-quality food, fattening, high on the refined carbohydrates, huge quantities not even a family of four (with growing children, no less) could complete in a sitting – and all those fake columns and Vegas trim. It’s not the Cheesecake Factory, it’s the Cheesy Factory.

I sighed again. On the drive from Atlanta, I listened to Beethoven. First the Missa Solemnis, then the Triple Concerto, and finally the Third Symphony. There was nothing Beethoven about this mall in Orlando, Florida.

Maybe that pilot would be in the hotel bar when I got back from my mall trip.