There is a reason I never identify myself as a Florida man.
“Florida Man” carries certain connotations—sometimes humorously outrageous, occasionally felonious and, on darker days, unsuitable for discussion over breakfast. This is why I call myself a native Floridian, especially around my snowbird friends. “Native Floridian” suggests mangrove knowledge, hurricane competence and an instinctive distrust of turn signals. It denies them the pleasure of calling me Florida Man, even when the moniker fits.
A genuine Florida Man is distinguished not merely by bad judgment, but by layers of bad judgment. Any fool can make one poor decision. Florida Man constructs a seven-layer dip of misconduct, then serves it from the back of an unregistered airboat.
Consider the gentleman reportedly stopped while driving a little red riding mower southbound on Northeast 799th Street in Old Town.
Operating a lawn mower on a state or county road is illegal, but barely qualifies for Florida Man status. Perhaps his grass had moved. Perhaps he was chasing it. Perhaps the mower had always dreamed of seeing the Gulf.
Then, according to the Dixie County Sheriff’s Office, the driver admitted smoking marijuana before the trip. Now we have two layers: riding a mower down a public roadway and doing so after getting stoned. Promising, but still not enough. In other states, this might earn a stern editorial about declining standards. In Florida, it would not make the front page unless the mower was towing a hot tub.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending upon whether you are his attorney—the story continued. Deputies alleged that he possessed a bag of clonazepam pills, a hypodermic needle and a substance believed to be crystal meth.
That is how the layering works. The mower is merely the tortilla chip. Source: Dixie County Sheriff’s Office arrest log.
Florida Man does not wake up and say, “Today I shall become a national punchline.” He begins with an errand. He needs cigarettes, bait or something from a cousin named Scooter. The truck won’t start. The mower will. One decision leads to another until a deputy is standing beside the road asking why there is a crossbow strapped to the cup holder.
Florida Woman, meanwhile, deserves equal recognition. She is not simply the long-suffering girlfriend yelling, “Don’t tell them what’s in the cooler!” Sometimes she is the visionary who put it there.
In 2019, wildlife officers assisting with a traffic stop asked one Florida woman whether she had anything else in the vehicle. According to news reports, she produced a juvenile alligator—from her yoga pants.
One must respect the theatrical timing. Plenty of people carry prohibited wildlife. It takes a professional to wait for the phrase “anything else?” before reaching into her trousers and unveiling an alligator.
The animal was reportedly about a foot long. This was fortunate for everyone, although it raises logistical questions no reputable newspaper should explore. The officers had already discovered dozens of turtles in the vehicle, making the car less an automobile than an ark with questionable paperwork.
Again, layers. One turtle is an eccentric passenger. Dozens of turtles suggest a business plan. An alligator in your pants suggests the business plan lacked adult supervision. Source: Miami Herald.
Another Florida woman allegedly “borrowed” a juvenile alligator from a former workplace for a birthday photo shoot at a resort. The gator was later found in the bathtub.
This story contains everything required for induction into the Florida Hall of Fame: a birthday, a resort, an ex-employer, unauthorized wildlife and a bathtub occupied by somebody who did not request turndown service.
Imagine the planning conversation.
“What should we do for your birthday?”
“Dinner?”
“Too ordinary.”
“Dancing?”
“Still ordinary.”
“What if we steal an alligator and put it in the hotel bathtub?”
“Perfect. I’ll bring candles.” Source: ClickOrlando.
Florida men also understand wardrobe. In St. Petersburg, police alleged that a man wearing a full jester costume confronted a landscaper with a 12-inch dagger because the lawn mower was too loud.
Notice the craftsmanship. Complaining about yard noise is commonplace. Threatening the landscaper is criminal. Adding a dagger makes it medieval. Doing all this while dressed as a court jester elevates the incident into performance art.
The mower operator, reportedly wearing ear protection, did not hear him approaching. There is something poetic about an enraged jester being ignored because of landscaping equipment. Shakespeare would have needed five acts to achieve that level of absurdity. Florida managed it before the afternoon thunderstorm. Source: Suggest, citing the arrest affidavit.
These stories help explain why I cling to “native Floridian.” Native Floridians know alligators are not pets, pants require no wildlife compartment and a lawn mower is transportation only during a hurricane, when normal laws have been temporarily replaced by plywood.
Still, I feel a reluctant affection for the Florida Man legend—not for the drugs, danger or dagger-waving, but for the baroque refusal to do anything simply. Elsewhere, people get arrested. Here, they get arrested while towing a trampoline behind a golf cart, wearing one flipper and explaining that the raccoon is their emotional-support accountant.
Florida Man is not merely a person. He is a storytelling principle: Whatever happened, there is always another layer.
So call me a native Floridian. I have a driver’s license, proper insurance and no reptiles concealed anywhere on my person.
At the moment.