I grew up in Pinellas County, Fla. It’s the birthplace of Hooters and, if a traveling insurance salesman I once met had his facts straight, it’s also the trailer park capital of the nation.
If counties had flags, ours would have depicted a Budweiser bottle crossing a Coppertone bottle. There, the best jobs I could land were waitress jobs — usually at places that serve beer by the pitcher and Chablis by the carafe.
Now I live in Los Angeles County, which contrary to what a New Yorker would tell you, couldn’t be less like Central Florida. The beaches are too cold for swimming, and people here read whole books that contain nary a single recipe for margaritas. Back in my old stomping grounds, the only thing people read were signs advertising “two-for-one well drinks.” But in California I make my living writing and editing things that get printed on pieces of paper that people actually read.