By Vincent Bini
I have heard Florida described as “not a real place.” Well, I have news for those people. It is. Sure, there are times when it seems like a scene from the “Twilight Zone.” Others it seems we have slipped into another dimension. But in either scenario it is 100% real. Skimming the headlines of any given paper may read like a supermarket tabloid, and nine out of 10 times it happened in Florida. Live here long enough and you can guess the whereabouts of any given headline with a high probability of accuracy.
It is no secret that Florida has been a hub of sorts for a multitude of illicit activities. Be it running rum or Peruvian marching powder, Florida had its hand in it. The drug trade has had its roots deeply planted here for decades. As far as logistics goes, I don’t believe you could ask for a better spot. Be it land, sea or air, Florida abides. Being that it is such an inviting atmosphere for underground commerce, sometimes everyday people get caught in the crossfire. Sometimes literally. Especially during the ’70s and ’80s. I remember reading about multiple shootouts at busy malls when drug deals went bad. As bad as that was, there was a geographical zone, if you will, that would increase your odds of encountering such an event, but as with anything, you never know.
Florida, Man
If getting caught in a shootout wasn’t bad enough, there was a time when there was a real possibility of getting hit and killed by a falling bale of drugs. Really! In 1981, a man got up from his couch to use the bathroom in his South Broward trailer—and a bale came through the roof right where he’d been sleeping. Another headline took place in 1994 when a twin-engine plane fleeing U.S. Customs dropped half a ton of cocaine bales over South Florida. One bale hit the South Dade Baptist Church while the maintenance man was standing right outside.
There’s a lot to dissect here, and if I didn’t witness it myself, I would be skeptical. One day I was out surfing with a few of my buddies. The waves were pretty good by Florida standards and it was surprisingly not crowded. It was pretty close to sunrise, and a school day, so that may have had something to do with that. We paddled out and began our session. It was about as good as it could get. Plenty of rights and, aside from my buddies, no competition. After a couple of hours we started to get a little tired and there was talk of getting some grub. All agreed to bail after a few more waves.
Odd-Shaped Fish: Square Groupers
While waiting on the next set, I happened to notice a large box wrapped in plastic bobbing in the shore break. I didn’t think much of it—there is always some crap floating by. Our wave quota was up and we all caught waves and rode them to shore. By the time we walked up the beach, the current had pushed it in and a crowd had already formed around it.
As we got closer it became very clear what we were witnessing. That box wrapped in plastic was the elusive square grouper. A circle of surfers were frantically reaching into the now opened bale, grabbing fistfuls of weed. I couldn’t believe it. By the time we could get up to it, there wasn’t much left. My buddy who smoked stuffed his pockets with as much as he could. Lucky for us, he finished before the cops made it over the dunes.
That was going to be a short investigation for them. My buddy thought he scored, but apparently when pot gets wet in saltwater it makes it not very pleasant to smoke. And FYI, trying to dry it in your parents’ microwave is not advisable.
So yeah, Florida can seem like a surreal place. But I can tell you it is absolutely real. Wild. And I love it.
