When planned communities go wrong

You got shuffleboard and baggo. Enjoy your "staycation"

The other day I was looking out at the grey sky, thinking we hadn’t seen the sun for days, and I said to myself, “Self, do you remember when we first moved to Florida 30 years ago? The winter months would occasionally be a little chilly but the days would be filled with sunshine under a brilliant blue sky, a blue that you never see up north. We never had day after day of cloudy grey skies and wind with really cold temperatures like we have had this year.” Fortunately, my self agreed with me. I guess it has something to do with the El Niño cycle, according to the weather person on TV, but I don’t like it. I guess people further north, staring out their windows at a sea of white, probably don’t have much sympathy for us, but it makes me think sometimes that we didn’t move far enough south.

I was thinking I should go out and check the herb bed to see if by some miracle we had been allotted some irrigation water when a friend of mine rang the Ring doorbell. I have told you about him in previous posts on this site, and I was kind of dreading a visit like this because he usually drank a lot of my beer when he was at my house and I was running low as it was. But, with the miracle of the Ring doorbell I could see a six-pack under his arm so I welcomed him in. He made himself comfortable in my favorite chair and, wonder of wonders, offered me one of his beers after drinking half of one himself.

I took this to mean he had some serious grievances, so I asked him how he was enjoying life in his new 55+ community. “How’s life among the 55 and better people?” I asked. “Shit,” he said. We have this wonderful new recreational facility in the community. We have to pay for it and we can’t use it. Well, at least I’m trying to pay for it but they don’t make it easy.” I asked how hard that could be if he just wrote a check and sent it in with a payment coupon.

“Oh hell, “ was the answer. “They didn’t give us coupons, at least at first. And they didn’t give us an amount. At first they did, but then it changed, so people were sending checks for the wrong amount and having them returned and getting slapped with a late fee. Other people sent in checks that were never cashed, that just rolled around the twilight zone forever. Oh, and they changed the address a couple times too. You wanted to use the right account number to make sure you got credit for the payment, but I got at least three different account numbers in all the paperwork they sent me.” At this point, he had to open another brew before he could continue.

“So,” I said, “sounds like what my former co-workers would call a cluster fuck. Is the system working now? And could I have another one of your beers?”

“Shit,” he said, “I have no fucking clue. I’m not sure I trust them to do an automatic withdrawal so I still want to send an actual check. One check I sent arrived by the correct due date, but their bank didn’t accept it because it was past the bank cutoff date for processing checks. So, the due date wasn’t the due date and they didn’t tell us. We pay quarterly and I can hardly wait to see what happens with the next payment.”

As he seemed to forget I had asked for one of his beers, I just grabbed one for myself and told him I was surprised that the community was not better organized considering that older folks like him might get easily confused. He flipped me the bird at that one and before he could follow up with something worse I asked him about his comment that he couldn’t use this magnificent facility.

“Shit,” he said. “It’s got a huge artificial pool, so big that it’s like a small lake really. They call it a lagoon and it’s supposed to be the greatest one in the country. They have a kind of beach around part of it with all kinds of beach chairs and a big outdoor bar, actually a swim up bar, and an outdoor stage.”

“Sounds lovely, but why can’t you use it?”

“And why aren’t you sitting outside right now, asshole?”

“Ok, you got me,” I said. “It’s too cold.”

“Damned straight, amigo. The parking lot has been empty for weeks and a few days they actually closed entirely. They advertise that living here is like a staycation and it's a strange one if you ask me.”

I asked why people wouldn’t just go into the restaurant and have a nice meal, maybe listen to some music, and look at the lovely view. At that point a beer can, fortunately empty, narrowly missed my head. “Because there is no fucking restaurant, genius. That would be lovely on a day like this, but there is no restaurant at this lagoon, nothing indoors at least. They have food trucks. And they’re closed too.”

This surprised me so at risk to my own well being I said out loud that I thought it was incredible that the concept for this place didn’t include a restaurant. He opted not to throw another beer can, but was worked up enough to continue talking.

“No shit, Sherlock. Not only does this facility not have a restaurant, there isn’t a decent restaurant within miles of here, not even in my 55 and better community club. I would love to have a place that I could reach by walking or taking a golf cart to and from home.”

“As would a great many people,” I said. “Probably almost everyone.” We discussed it and couldn’t find an explanation as to why a huge community like his would not include a restaurant as part of the recreational amenities to maintain a revenue stream especially in poor weather. While it’s nice in summer to splash around in the pool or sunbathe, somedays it is just too hot and you would have customers inside to enjoy the air conditioning. And in winter when it’s too chilly outside, customers could enjoy a nice meal inside without caring about swimming or lounging simply because it’s the best and closest place to home. The weather statistics are readily available to anyone planning big developments like the one where my friend lives so we couldn’t think of a rational explanation for planning the community the way they did.

Then I asked my friend about the people who run the club in his community. “Are they 55+ and do they live there?” I asked.

“Hell, no,” said my friend.

“So they really don’t know what 55+ people want. And what about the people who manage this lagoon and your club? You know, next level up, where you send your checks. Where do they live?” I asked.

“Orlando,” he said. “About two hours away.”

“Then they have easy access to restaurants themselves, “ I said. “So it doesn't occur to them to care about you.”

Finally, we realized we might be overthinking it. Planners and developers don't care whether their home buying customers might enjoy having a restaurant as one of the amenities in their community. They simply don't need the money because customers are required to send them dues money every month or every quarter whether they use the facilities or not or whether the facilities are open or not.

“So I'm screwed,” said my friend. I nodded.

“You could complain I said, but that's like teaching a pig to sing. It won't work and it annoys the pig.” We decided to watch a hockey game.