The most fucked-up retirement — ever

We were renting time with the 1 percent at the La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club, when I heard “The Plan.”

 

It was 114 when we left Phoenix.  It was 72 in La Jolla.  We were having breakfast outside after months of hiding indoors with recycled air in the Valley of the never-ending Sun.

 

The San Diego sun was warm, but we were cooled by the clouds and a slight ocean breeze that blew away any would-be bugs. Perfect.

 

The waitress asked where we were from.

 

“Ohh, that’s great.  My husband and I are going to retire to Phoenix,” she said.

 

The Bear and I gave each other that look — when you realize you are in the midst of someone who might just be possessed.  I checked to make sure she didn’t have any sharp implements about her person.

 

“We have a house in Goodyear,” she said.  “We love it there.”

 

“Have you been there in the summer?”

 

“Ohh, we love the heat,” she said.

 

OK, hide the knives honey, this lady is a fucking demon.

 

You retire to Phoenix from some frozen popsicle like Chicago or Minneapolis or the non-existent god forbid, Canada. So when the days get long, you get the hell out and go home.

 

She’s living and working in paradise.  The Devil never gets to even visit La Jolla.  But we are pretty sure he lives in Goodyear, Arizona.

 

That town perfectly fits Dante’s description of the first circle of hell. It’s the quiet and boring “Limbo” for lost souls. They roast in 115-degree summers stuck in a sea of beige houses with red-tile roofs.  The only relief is an occasional strip mall — or if you’re lucky a Circle K may appear like a mirage on the horizon.

 

If you Google “best restaurant in Goodyear,” the answer is Rudy’s Country Store and Bar-B-Q.  You can’t miss it.  It’s right across Litchfield road from the Cracker Barrel and the Denny’s.
abandoned-trotter-park-goodyear-arizona-4
The abandoned trotter track in Goodyear
I wouldn’t recommend it, but if you Google “things to do in Goodyear” (and it’s not baseball spring training), you have 2 choices:

Either

  • The abandoned track for horse trotters
Or
  • The Bible Museum, which doesn’t even have dinosaurs (I mean Jesus Horses). It’s just a room with old copies of the most frigthening story every told.

 

We tried to help this lost soul from La Jolla.  But even after an hour describing the desecration of what 5 months of heat do to your mind, body and soul, she insisted on sticking to the most fucked-up retirement ever.

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