Welcome to Miami
Haven't been to Miami in a year or so. The welcome at Miami International Airport aka MIA is literally MIA. As in Missing In Action; there is nothing welcoming about your welcome to the US if you are a) latino and b) arriving in Miami.
An obviously latino agent is herding folks along through the lineup, alternately yelling 'CAMINA!' y 'STOP!' accompanied by a lot of "I'm so frustrated these people are so stupid" headshaking. THe new arrivals patiently put up with his behaviour so as not raise any eyebrows and perhaps have their entry to the US delayed even further by additional hassling aka questioning.
"We noticed you raised your eyebrows while in the lineup ma'am, what was that all about?"
"Sir, did you or did you not smile sardonically while you were waiting? Sir?"
"Ma'am, are you sure that baby is yours?"
Compared to the welcome at the Vegas airport, for example, where there is a sort of funny cheesy video about what you can bring in and what you can't, with celebrity impersonators doing the honors, Miami is a cold, unfriendly entry point.
I should mention that our CPB agent, who was not Latino, not white and not male, was lovely. A bright spot in an otherwise very unwelcoming place.
Later, shopping at a decidedly downmarket outdoor mall for a few essentials pre-Brasil, I again got the feeling that I have always had about Miami - people here seem entirely and absolutely bored with life, dragging themselves along like the Walking Dead, Cubano edition. No expressions on their faces but sheer boredom. You would think that all that coffee would keep them alert and 'up' but you would be wrong.
This was also the case at the Alamo car rental counter where Wanda (that's what her mind was doing apparently - no one could accuse her of 'being in the moment') went through the motions of what one could euphemistically call customer service without a glimmer of life behind her dead eyes.
Then there was this Walgreen's exchange between Susana - obviously latina judging from her accent - and the older white man who was buying cigarettes.
"Gimme two packs of Pall Mall red"
Susana bends down to get the cigarettes. She is obviously not a smoker and so doesn't have the colors and brands down just yet. She grabs some.
"Not those! I said Pall Mall red!"
Susana continues to fumble around and WhiteMan is getting agitated.
"No, not THOSE! Are you listening to me?"
Susana looks up at him, from her crouched position.
WhiteMan points, leaning far over the counter towards the cigarettes.
"THERE! LOOK AT MY FINGER!!"
His finger is pointing past her head, in her personal space. Finally Susana gets his poison of choice right and takes his money. She hands over his change and the receipt.
"I don't want a receipt" says WhiteMan.
Maybe Susana didn't hear him or get what he said, so the receipt is still there, with his change, much to the annoyance of WhiteMan.
"I said I don't want a RECEIPT!"
He then storms off, back INTO the store (more shopping?) and Susana shakes her head and greets the next customer.
Maybe this exchange helps explain the whole Walking Dead feel to Miami.? A couple of interactions like this every day would deaden one's soul to be sure.