CULTURE
The Intergalactic
Space Chronicle
A Visit to the Florida Retirement Ruins
By Arno Freedman
I was a bit nervous when I got my latest assignment from the Chronicle, a visit to the Florida Senior Villages ruins. I had never been there before, but do remember my parent Rane, telling me about visiting their great grandfather (how weird is it to think that gender was once a dichotomous concept).
These massive, gated villages promised affluent American elders a warm and safe place where they could spend the rest of their lives in relative luxury, unbothered by working class ethnic people, except those who cleaned their houses and cared for them as they declined. However, by the mid-21st century, repeated flooding due to rising sea levels and the advent of virtual retirement, where retirees could plug in to any type of locale and to any body image that they wanted from the comfort of their own beds, meant that management companies could no longer sustain the significant cost of upkeep.
I decided the most interesting way to travel would be to take a self-driving cab all the way down old I-95 down to West Palm Beach, which would allow me to catch the changing scenery of the Eastern seaboard. It imagine it was indeed an amazing trip, but to be honest, I slept through most of it.
Finally, I arrived to Gunthers’ Village and after getting my drone-delivered breakfast, I was ready to dive in. As I pushed aside the creaking wrought iron gate that had guarded the community’s exclusivity, I was taken aback by what looked more like a wildlife reserve than an old folks reserve. The once trimmed golf courses had blossomed into a savannah of sorts, with hundreds of birds hovering overhead, and I could see seemingly well-fed alligators sunning themselves on the banks of the faux lakes.
Since I was forewarned, I took out my newly purchased machete, and started cleaving my way through the grass to where I believed was the grand clubhouse. It is here where storied Florida elders regaled their grandkids with tales of business endeavors and largest fish caught. As I walked into the clubhouse, I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t alone. Initially, I thought it was the bats that descended past me in panic, but no, the presence I felt seemed almost human.
I jumped as a voice said hello from behind the dusty bar. No, it was no person, it was a bartending robot, eager to greet and serve. As a joke, I asked for a scotch neat, and to my surprise, the robot actually poured me a low-ball of Glenfiddich. I got past my squeamishness at drinking from a glass that hadn’t been washed in 30 years and downed the drink in one shot. Surprisingly, it tasted fine. I asked the robot for another, and decided to try a conversation.
“Bartender, what is your name?,” I asked.
“My name is Isaac, how are you today?,” replied the robot server.
“Well, I am fine, thank you. I am writing a piece for the Intergalactic Chronicles, and I was wondering if you could tell me about this place.”
The humanoid seemed eager to help, “We have 3 golf courses, and a fully functional spa, with a state-of-the-art gym. You are in the Palisades restaurant, but we have a sister restaurant just down the hall called the Isles, and if you fancy some after-hours fun, the bar is on the third floor. Can I book you a massage or golf session perhaps?”
“No thank you” I quipped. “How long have you been here,” I asked?
“Oh, we’re always here for you. Any time rain or shine. Will you be dining at the bar or would you prefer a table?”
I began to get bored with the canned responses and decided that my conversation with the robot was now officially over.
I decided to take up a golfing round after all and grabbed a rusty club from the abandoned pro shop and some balls that were scattered around the store.
As I was walking out to the fairway, I realized that a massive python was blocking my exit. For a moment I considered whether to try to jump over it, but then I decided that it would be better to take the hint and find my way out.
Looking at the expanse of now decrepit houses, some buried under vegetation, I marveled at how elaborate the dream of American retirement used be, and how eventually nature overcomes even the most ambitious pursuits of conquest by human-kind. Wading through the sawgrass, I saw a small boat and decided to row my way out of the village among the alligators, the panthers, and the birds.