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Forget the southern border—it's our eastern one that needs attention

By Brian Swarthmore

April 17, 2006

San Diego--Yeesh, those talk radio jerks are at it again. Blaming San Diego’s problems on the flow of illegals coming over the border, while ignoring the real problem: The tide of Arizonies coming over from the East.

As a native San Diegan, I’ve had my fill of Arizona residents who live here part-time but are full-time assholes, who demand special treatment because, as one Zonie once told me when I was working at a Mission Beach coffee house, “The money I pay three months a year pays for your potholes to be fixed!”

Uh, thanks.

Zonies are a strange breed. They move here in May to escape the heat of their state but then wear long-sleeve shirts and turn up the thermostat in every room they walk into.

They complain about the lack of authentic Mexican food and then visit Chili’s.

They gripe about how the Gin Blossoms are no longer played on the radio.

They insist on being considered locals while they’re here in town but then get angry because the local 7-Eleven doesn’t carry the Arizona Republic.

I hate Zonies.

It wasn’t always this way. Back in college, I used to go to Tempe and Tucson a lot. I read somewhere that the state had more women than men so I would fly over every so often to pick up man-hungry college coeds.

Problems started about the time I planned a three-day weekend with my then girlfriend on Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday. You might say I had a dream of screwing her brains out. But you know what she told me when I got there? “It’s a bad time to come. We don’t celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday.”

I really hate Zonies. Of course, they are pretty weird. I dated another Zonie who gave great head. I asked her, “How’d you learn that? Watching a porno?’’ She said, “No, my mother taught me.”

Boggles the mind, these Zonies. And they’re strange in other ways. When I worked at the coffeehouse, we had this one Zonie guy who would always visit. The exchange went something like this….

“What would you like, sir?”

“Uh, I’ve been coming here for three days now. Don’t you think you should know by now?”

“Sorry, we get a lot of people here….”

“I mean, don’t you think I qualify as a local by NOW. I’ve been here three whole days. Isn’t it about time you remember I like an iced cappuccino with no cream?”

“Sorry, we get a lot of people here….”

“Oh, I know what your problem is. You’re still adjusting to daylight savings time. That must be it. Your body clock hasn’t adjusted to the time shift yet. I don’t have to worry about that. Because I am from the great state of Arizona where we DON’T have daylight savings time. Maybe that’s why my memory is so good.”

Goddamn Zonies.

I’ve tried to meet Zonies and be nice to them. They always say the same thing. “I want to meet lots of people while I’m here.”

Oh good. Maybe we can hang out sometime.

“Oh, I want to meet lots of people but I don’t actually want to do anything with them. I’ve only got a few weeks left and I want to spend time meeting people but not actually doing things with them.”

Uh, okay.

“But you can help me. Do you know where the nearest Chili’s is? I’m in the mood for an authentic casual dining restaurant, preferably with indoor seating.”

That’s another thing about Zonies. They don’t like being outdoors that much. If you go to a restaurant with indoor and outdoor dining, the Zonies are always inside demanding that the heat be turned up and the salsa be turned down.

“Ooh, this is a hot salsa. What do you call it?”

Diced tomatoes.

“Wow. How do you stand the heat?”

Also, Zonies can’t drive. They tend to drive very slowly on freeways and boulevards and a friend of mine says it’s because they’re in awe of all the tall buildings here. As he put it, “the tallest building in Phoenix is probably only two stories.”

If you do want to see Zonies in their natural San Diego habitat, go to Coronado, Imperial Beach and Mission Beach and look for the people wearing San Diego Zoo T-shirts underneath their parkas.

Oh, and Ugg boots. They wear Ugg boots everywhere when they’re in San Diego – even the two or three places with an actual dress code. I saw one Arizona blonde complain to a doorman who tried to get her out of the Ugg-ly shoes.

“Don’t you know who I am. I have been coming to this bar for three nights. I am a regular! The money I spend here allows dirtballs like you to surf. And I wouldn’t have to wear these shoes if you would just turn up the heat to something above freezing, dammit.

Yeesh. I hate Zonies.

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