America 1982-Chapter 451 - 75: Florida’s Outstanding People and Remarkable Land
Nick sat in the passenger seat of the rented car used by the film crew, holding a sandwich and drowsily looking at a printing shop on the street side.
The Tommy Hawk his team was assigned to follow had already entered the printing shop about an hour ago. Before going in, he had Martin buy a dozen Florida newspapers, and after reading them, he started bustling around inside the print shop.
The photographer who got permission to enter the shop and follow Tommy communicated softly to team leader Nick through the walkie-talkie, "He’s manually preparing the plates; it looks like he’s designing a newspaper layout or something."
"At least it’s a legitimate business, although I doubt that the money he earned from pigeons pooping is enough to publish a newspaper," Nick bit into his sandwich and responded dismissively, "Whatever he’s designing, at least we can broadcast it. It’s not like that crap from yesterday, thinking about those images makes me want to vomit up the food I’m eating."
"I think you’re being a bit too optimistic. While he was preparing the plates, he also had the print shop owner help design and make a few work ID badges with our names on them. He had Martin find a cheap photo studio nearby to take headshots for us, to put in those work IDs. I’m starting to worry, the badges say we are staff from a Dutch magazine’s Florida correspondent office in the United States. Can someone tell me when I became Dutch?" the photographer whispered to Nick over the connection.
"I’ve never even been to Europe."
While the photographer was guessing what Tommy was up to, Tommy himself had already designed half of the layout, then took a break to stretch his limbs, stopped working to smoke, and chatted with the passionate Cuban immigrant owner who had offered him a free cup of coffee.
As the two were discussing whether the Florida sun had radiation that could easily damage one’s brain, hence the abundance of weird people in Florida, the door to the shop was pushed open.
A burly white man walked in wearing a plumber’s outfit and a sun hat, with an unshaven stubble on his chin. The print shop owner went up to greet him, "As far as I remember, I haven’t called for any pipe repairs. Do you need help?"
"Hello, sir, I’m Jeff Raven. I am a Democrat, the candidate for the special election in Florida’s 18th district," the large man said with a nervous and shy expression, introducing himself softly to the owner.
When the owner heard the self-introduction, his reaction was very straightforward, he put on a stern face and pointed to the door with his finger, "If your eyes and ears work fine, you should be able to tell from my skin color and accent that I’m of Cuban descent. So, don’t expect me to vote for the Democratic Party that discriminates against Cubans! Get out of my shop!"
Tommy, holding his coffee on the side, laughed when he heard the owner’s blunt words. Indeed, nowadays, the Democratic Party in Florida— or in many respects—had more radical rhetoric and actions than the Republican Party.
For instance, the Democratic Party in Florida constantly accused the ruling Republicans of ruining this great country by continuing to harbor hundreds of thousands of Cuban immigrants for the sake of international prestige. They claimed these immigrants not only took jobs from American citizens and used up their social welfare but also that at least tens of thousands of them were brainwashed Cuban communist soldiers. They would lurk in Florida like ghosts, waiting for Castro’s command, and then these people would swiftly take over Florida, becoming the vanguard of Cuba’s invasion of the United States.
This rhetoric was utterly brainless. Even the Democratic politicians who said these things knew they were nonsense, but the lower-class residents of Florida were willing to believe and even spread these rumors, reshaping them, for example, to accuse Cuban-owned gun shops of being Cuban spy-established arsenals. In the unknown depths of the vast Florida Everglades, these damned Cubans even hid hundreds of tanks and planes.
Therefore, the large number of Cuban immigrants who moved to Florida in recent years almost hated the Democratic politicians who slandered Cubans. Now that a Democratic candidate came to canvass for votes, the owner naturally wasn’t courteous.
"You’re mistaken, sir. I’m not... I didn’t come to canvass for votes, sir. I just want you to help me print and make some campaign flyers," said the big man named Jeff, awkwardly explaining, "I don’t discriminate against Cubans, I... I just wanted..."
After realizing he had misunderstood the visitor’s true intention, the owner softened his tone, but still kept a stern face, "You don’t have to think. I won’t print advertising flyers for Democrats on principle, unless you’re willing to pay extra."
"If I pay extra, can it be done faster?" Jeff handed a plastic bag containing his information to the owner, not rejecting the owner’s unreasonable request for more money.
The owner took the materials and said sarcastically, "Definitely not as fast as Democratic politician Ross Right sleeping with women."
Florida’s saying of being a land of remarkable people is not unfounded. Ross Right, mentioned by the print shop owner, was the Democratic mayoral candidate for South Miami City last year. The guy had just spent a night with a high-class Cuban lady, and on the following day at the campaign rally, he righteously criticized the Republican Cuban immigration policy for taking jobs from the locals.
