To miss New Orleans.
Before my dog died some weeks ago, I was missing New Orleans terribly. Not that here isn't good, it just isn't New Orleans.
God I love that town, warts and all.
On the last night we walked on Bourbon Street, I programmed the phone number to a pay phone right outside 730 Bourbon into my cell. I decided it might be fun to call the phone at some point in the future when I wasn't there. I got the idea because as I was walking by, the phone was ringing. So I picked it up. It was some radio show calling and they asked me some dumb quiz questions.
About a month ago, one night as I was missing the Big Easy, I decided to dial the pay phone number. It rang. A black guy picked it up and we had a nice conversation. I asked him how Bourbon Street was; he said same as always. He was in town for the Essence Festival and his truck had gotten towed and he was trying to find out where it had been taken. He had relocated to St. Louis after Katrina and was visiting, but had to get back to work in Missouri on Monday and was stressed about getting his truck back. So he decided to go down to Bourbon Street and party.
I love that Big Easy attitude. Manana, baby. Talking with him made me miss the town even more, although I knew that if I were there, we probably wouldn't have spoken to one another passing on the street. No way.
But it made me realize that we're all humans. We all have needs, issues, problems, parking tickets, bad days. Whatever. And I was having a great time talking to this guy, and he wasn't exactly hanging up the phone on me, either. We talked for about 15 minutes. It was a good connection.
After the call ended, I called my cousin Dorothy in New Orleans and we talked a long time. We miss each other, terribly. I told her about the pay phone and she just laughed..."Of course you'd do something like that!"
I want to go back soon. Maybe Labor Day. Maybe sooner.
God I love that town, warts and all.
On the last night we walked on Bourbon Street, I programmed the phone number to a pay phone right outside 730 Bourbon into my cell. I decided it might be fun to call the phone at some point in the future when I wasn't there. I got the idea because as I was walking by, the phone was ringing. So I picked it up. It was some radio show calling and they asked me some dumb quiz questions.
About a month ago, one night as I was missing the Big Easy, I decided to dial the pay phone number. It rang. A black guy picked it up and we had a nice conversation. I asked him how Bourbon Street was; he said same as always. He was in town for the Essence Festival and his truck had gotten towed and he was trying to find out where it had been taken. He had relocated to St. Louis after Katrina and was visiting, but had to get back to work in Missouri on Monday and was stressed about getting his truck back. So he decided to go down to Bourbon Street and party.
I love that Big Easy attitude. Manana, baby. Talking with him made me miss the town even more, although I knew that if I were there, we probably wouldn't have spoken to one another passing on the street. No way.
But it made me realize that we're all humans. We all have needs, issues, problems, parking tickets, bad days. Whatever. And I was having a great time talking to this guy, and he wasn't exactly hanging up the phone on me, either. We talked for about 15 minutes. It was a good connection.
After the call ended, I called my cousin Dorothy in New Orleans and we talked a long time. We miss each other, terribly. I told her about the pay phone and she just laughed..."Of course you'd do something like that!"
I want to go back soon. Maybe Labor Day. Maybe sooner.
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