Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

For city execs, all work, no play pays off April 10, 1987

The hottest vacation package in Florida is being offered by the city of Miami, which is paying its top brass big bucks to stay in town.

It's such a good deal that you wonder why every little kid doesn't want to grow up and be a faithful public servant.

The trick is to store up as much "accrued vacation time" as possible. The longer you do this, the more money you get at retirement. Why? Because the city, in all its fiscal wisdom, will pay you for any unused vacation hours at your current top salary scale.

It doesn't matter if you piled up the time 10 years ago while making $10 an hour. If you're now earning $20 an hour, that's the rate at which you get reimbursed.

How big-hearted can a bureaucracy be! This vacation gig is better than an IRA account.Throw in pensions and sick time and you've got yourself a healthy nest egg.

With this kind of incentive, it's no surprise that so many city executives claim they go for years without taking time off. You've got to feel sorry for these tireless souls, toiling at their desks day after day while each summer their pals trundle off to Disney World or Six Flags or Knott's Berry Farm.

As a matter of fact, it might be instructive to locate and publish the time sheets of these working-class heroes—not to test their memories, mind you, but merely to give inspiration to new employees.

The all-work, no-play mentality is so pervasive at City Hall that Miami now has $9.5 million of accrued vacation time on its payroll. Alarmed, the city manager wants to pay some of this in lump sums now, instead of letting the money build up until workers reach retirement.

Under this voluntary payback program, the city has already delivered some handsome checks. Assistant budget director Frank May got $25,085 for 894 hours of unused vacation—no days, 109 nights in beautiful Miami.

Deputy City Attorney Robert Clark cashed in 100 hours at more than $45 an hour. Finance director Carlos Garcia collected 263.5 hours at more than $36 an hour. And budget director Manohar Surana got about $42 an hour for 286 hours of unused vacation. (His $87,000-plus salary is almost as high as that of his New York City counterpart.)

One of the biggest winners was internal audit director Sujan Chhabra. For 18 weeks of vacation time he received nearly $30,000, which, city officials say, he needed for a new house.

Interestingly, only Miami's highest-paid honchos are eligible for this exciting program. City sanitation workers are limited to 100 hours of accrued vacation while many other general employees are allowed no more than 180 hours.

City Manager Cesar Odio himself has racked up 11 weeks of unused vacation during his seven years as a Miami employee. If he elected to cash in now (which he says he won't), Odio would be paid at his current salary rate of about $44.23 an hour—or $20,125.

However, if he waited 10 years and retired from the same job at the same pay, his accumulated vacation time could be worth $45,000 cash, or more.

If, as Odio says, the early vacation payback will save the public money, then perhaps he ought to set an example by doing it himself. As long as it's optional, some employees will continue to hoard their hours and cash out at retirement.

What would really save money is to require workers to take all their vacation the year they earn it. This radical policy is enforced at most private companies because the other method is not only ridiculously expensive, but counterproductive to healthy work habits.

Some people might even say it would be more sensible if all city workers with accrued vacation (no matter how much) were forced to take it right now—say, starting this morning. Just hop a plane and go away for a while. Don't come back until your vacation is used up.

But think of what this would mean: The big shots at City Hall would be gone for weeks and weeks. Why, there would be no one to sit around and dream up these rackets.

How would we ever get by?

City flushes $101,000 right down the John January 19, 1992

When I heard about the $101,000 latrine, I had to see for myself. The concept staggered the senses. I've been privy to some fancy bathrooms, but nothing that cost a hundred grand. That's what Dade County spent on a new public restroom at Indian Hammocks Park.

How was it possible? I didn't know. Maybe they let David Paul design it.

In any case, a $101,000 bathroom was bound to be something special—the Taj Mahal of all toilets.

Excitedly I drove to Kendall. My imagination was racing. Surely the urinals would be carved from the finest Italian marble; the toilets, thronelike. Silk towels would come from sterling dispensers. And the soap—perhaps a Parisian blend, lightly scented with tulip petals!

I arrived at the park in midafternoon. Leaves whispered. Birds sang. Children frolicked. It was lovely.