Yamile isn’t having it.

Matt and I are at the Saloon. I see a Hispanic guy wearing a thin white button down with a gaudy silver pattern on the back. He also has a “female” friend who made me instantly homesick for Miami – flat ironed hair, tight tank top, fake breasts, scandalously short skirt, and dangerous stilettos.

I couldn’t resist.

Me: “Oh gurl, you’re beautiful!”
Yamile: “Why thank you!”
Me: “I’m from Miami. You’re taking me back right now.”
Yamile: “Oh my god! We are from Miami!”

We then chatted about our locations in the city. Yamile is a Miami Beach girl and doesn’t slum it in Little Havana… she then gets a whiff of something:

Yamile: “Do you just eat McDonald’s or something?”
Me: “No?”
Yamile: “Why does it smell like fries?”
Me: “Oh, they serve food at clubs here. The guy at the bar behind us just got a food basket.”
Yamile: “Oh hell nah. CARLOS, we are getting out of here. This Minnesota thing is some bullshit.”

She then literally takes her man and heads towards the door. Yamile was done.

I felt the same way about food in the bars when I moved here…but I never walked out. Oye Loca….