Reviewing Miami and then some. Gratuitous vulgarity included.

Opa Locka-Hialeah Flea Market

Hialeah is like a third-world version of Miami. The Opa Locka Hialeah Flea Market is like a 99th-world version of Hialeah if Hialeah were the name of a run-down strip club in Haiti.

What I love most about the flea market is how they have a web site. They have a web site. I can’t even begin to tell you guys how floored I am at the fact that they have a web site. I know it’s not some sort of impossible task, it just seems like the incongruity is through the roof, like supermodels pooping. I mean, they’re human, you know they poop, but I still can’t picture it.

The entire compound is encircled by a large fence, similar to how the zoo keeps the monkeys from flinging their feces everywhere, or how Guantanamo Bay keeps all the people who hate our freedom away from other cave and desert people who hate our freedoms as well. I didn’t check, but I’m guessing there were landmines littered around the perimeter as well. When you enter with your car, you’re greeted by what looks like a rebel-controlled checkpoint between Uganda and Rwanda where they collect your $1 to park. As soon as you drive past it, there are guys standing in the middle of the street motioning for you to go into a lot. A typical first-timer would logically assume they’re telling you where to go because they’re guiding you to a proper parking spot, just as they do in every other venue in America. But no, not here. This guy is guiding you into his crew’s little shop where they install tires, radios, and alarm systems. If you make the mistake of following him, you’ll probably drive out of there with fuzzy dice, a new cassette deck, and 12 different ways of saying “cholo.”

Once you find your way through parking, the rest is just walking around the Darfur refugee camp-like layout.

Once you find your way through parking, the rest is just walking around the Darfur refugee camp-like layout. We humans in western society like to joke about how at Wal Mart you can walk in and say something like, “hi, I’d like grapes, a winter coat, and a Danielle Steele romance novel with Fabio on the cover.” Wal Mart really is like that. You can find just about anything, but you know what you can’t find? Live chickens to use in Santeria sacrificial rituals. That’s where the flea market shines.

Furniture, underwear, shoes, kitchenware, used bikes, used landscaping equipment, clothing, pets, books, and diseases. About the only thing you can’t buy is sensibility. You’ve got Dominicans, Haitians, Cubans, Chinese, Puerto Ricans, Mexicans, Nicaraguans, and all other sorts of people giving you deals on stuff you can buy on Amazon for a lot cheaper and of better quality. It’s like the United Nations of garbage. Though, in all fairness, I don’t think you can purchase live Santeria chickens on Amazon yet. Not until they release their Chickindle. Jesus, that was a cheap joke.

Is the Chickindle a real thing?

No, but apparently a “chic kindle” is. Point, Internet.

My girlfriend and I just needed to see this place, because it sounds like the sort of stupid adventure we love to get ourselves into. While we were there she got a craving for a guarapo then quickly remembered how she has previously read about things like dysentery, cholera, and being pickpocketed by a shifty Latino while drinking a guarapo so she decided against it. I’m a man which means I’m very good at making more money than women, getting deodorant on the outside of my t-shirt as I slide it on, and most of all I’m great with directions. Even so, I still lost my sense of direction while in there. We ended up walking the perimeter to find where we parked, because it all looks the same.

I’m a man which means I’m very good at making more money than women…

On our way out, my girlfriend tells me there was a group of Cuban men cat-calling her and talking shit about me loudly in my general direction. I didn’t notice it at the time because: A) I’ve lived in Miami for over 20 years and have cultivated my skill of “mentally drown out the sound of loud Cuban men”; and B) I was looking at the caged parrots and cockatoos. She tells me they were saying how I wasn’t enough of a man for her, which is interesting for a number of reasons. If I were to entertain their thought process for a moment, I would find that in their mind they believe that a Spanglish belittling of the guy a woman is with is enough for her to realize the err in her ways, dump him, and fuck the cat caller’s brains out. I do think it’s cool how I get to scratch “have my manhood challenged at a flea market” off my bucket list.

This place was ridiculous. I’d rather watch Boy George trim his pubes.

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3 Comments to Opa Locka-Hialeah Flea Market

  1. That was so ghetto! You should take a cue from me and go classy at ño que caché:

  2. Hialeah is a ruthless place. Being as Aryan as they come and a northern transplant to Miami, I was astounded when walking into a supermarket (I was managing an event next door). Not only did the meat section consist of basically just chicken dicks and buzzard’s balls, but the people were more shocked to see me then me them.

    But, it’s still cool to have places so close to home that you can go and feel like your in a completely different world.

  3. El Don

    Oye papo, what are you doing??

    You should have gone back and fought those men! The fact that you let those guys talk trash to your pretty lady and walked away only to come write about it on the internet means you’re weak!

    It’s not too late, there is nothing sexier than a man who isn’t afraid to engage in a knife fight to protect the honor of his mujer!

    Este tipo de cosa no pasa en Cuba!
    El Don

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