Day 3
Anita’s in the shower right now and I’m supposed to go in after her, then Alicia and then Alicia’s son, Slade (also known as Tater Bug - don’t ask me why ^_^). We were supposed to have been picking up our rental car at Enterprise at 1, but... Suffice to say, we’ve just lounged around and are not going to be there on time.
Which is fine by me; I don’t mind if we get into New Orleans late. Check-in doesn’t start until 3 and I don’t have anything planned, volunteer-wise, for this evening.
Joey’s mom, Melinda, was supposed to have driven us down to NOLA but apparently either no one had asked her before I got here or something, because she acted like it was a tremendous imposition and I talked Anita into renting a car with me instead and just using it one-way to get to the Enterprise return center at Louis Armstrong airport. Then, we’ll grab the Sheraton shuttle to the hotel.
The south doesn’t just look different, as I mentioned yesterday; it’s a whole different world culture-wise as well. I don’t think I could last even a month here. The societal inequality drives me crazy, and I’m not talking about race relations. I’m talking gender relations here. Women’s liberation, while a great success (IMHO) in California, apparently hasn’t yet made its way to Mississippi.
Damn. I think Anita’s out of the shower. And I was all ready to launch into a huge diatribe, too.
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3:17 a.m.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Ugh.
What a day. So once Anita and I had gotten all our stuff packed up and in Alicia’s car, it was near 3 p.m. Our reservation had been for 1. So, when we got to the Enterprise office we found they’d deleted all our information and pegged us as no-shows.
After giving them all the info again, we were able to get a Pontiac G6, which apparently Anita has heard of but I haven’t. It’s a great little car but is painted an awful color - I think it’s roughly the color of Dad’s F150 (“Desert Sand” or something).
We’d barely left the Enterprise office when we realized we hadn’t eaten all day, so we stopped just off the I-55 at a greasy spoon. (An honest-to-God greasy spoon. I haven’t eaten at one of those since my [biological] dad and I used to drive up to Oregon to visit Uncle Mick and Aunt Sue.)
I’d sworn that if I came across a true Southern dish, I’d try it. So, instead of having a bacon cheeseburger I had a catfish po-boy. It was awesome; rolled in cornmeal and deep-fried, but it wasn’t greasy and oily and heavy. It was really light and the fish was so mild you couldn’t even tell you were eating fish (which is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned most of the time).
Got back on the highway and drove… and drove… and drove… Crossed a huge bridge that skimmed above trees and swampland. I didn’t even really think houses like those existed - you know, the kind that basically rise out of the swamp and rest on stilts. But there they were in all their rural, Southern glory. I was amazed.
I was on the phone with Mom pretty much the whole trip; I think she liked knowing where we were and feeling as though she was there just in case we got lost or ran into some sort of trouble or something. I was glad she was there, too.
Just as we got into New Orleans, it started raining. That was followed by lightning the likes of which I’d never seen - it was like strobe lights. I kept gasping and freaking Anita out. *Grin*
Unfortunately, it got really bad just as we realized we’d passed our exit and were getting lost. Then, we got stuck in the afternoon/evening rush and traffic slowed to a crawl.
Eventually - and I don’t even remember how - we turned around and made our way back toward the Superdome (which is where we’d meant to be in the first place). At a toll booth, the very patient woman at the till gave us great directions and we made it to the hotel.
Pulled up, got our luggage piled on a trolley, and went to the check-in desk. Everything was going fine until the guy checking us in (Kyle Metzger; don’t ask why Anita and I remembered his name. Probably because he was pretty darn cute) asked me for a credit card to which they could charge the entire amount of our ten-night stay here at the Sheraton. I practically died. Instead, I handed over my debit/MasterCard and told him he could try it but it probably wouldn’t go through.
It didn’t. (Shock of all shocks.) My limit for payments is $500/day and he was trying to charge $2,300 on it. Plus, even if it had gone through, I didn’t have $2,300 in my account; I’m lucky at this point if I have $1,000 total, including what’s in my savings account.
So I did what most 20-something-year-olds would do: I panicked, then called Mommy. *G* Next followed a tremendous rush as I asked to borrow the full amount, but it had to be transferred to my account right then, which wasn’t going to happen. Then she suggested using my Capital One card, but I’d already had to use that on the rental car today (nearly $300!) and my limit’s only $500 (which I’ve insisted upon from the beginning because I don’t want to go into debt and know I would).
Happily, the hotel gods smiled upon us. I asked if I could pay with a credit card that wasn’t present and wasn’t in my name (it was a long shot, I figured, but hey, what did I have to lose at that point? It’s not like I had any dignity left), and surprisingly, he said yes. He would fax Mom an authorization form, which she would complete and fax back along with copies of her driver’s license and credit card. He then suggested Anita and I go have a drink at the lobby bar to calm our nerves, as we were - oh, all right; I was - a bit frazzled by that point.
We decided that was the best idea we’d heard all day and happily traipsed over to the Pelican Bar. One vodka-cranberry (me) and one tequila sunrise (Anita) later, Mom had faxed all the papers, Kyle had signed us in, and we were assigned to room 2404.
It’s gorgeous here. Very upscale. I’m not falling all over myself in delight because I knew what to expect, but I’m not so jaded that I’m not very happy to be here and impressed with the hotel in its entirety. The best feature of our room, of course, is the view out the large floor-to-ceiling window: the southern portion of Canal Street, Harrah’s Casino (which we have at home, so whoopee), several other large buildings, and the Mississippi River. Though we didn’t check in until after dark and I haven’t seen much of the river, I know it’s there and am in love with the idea of being so near the water.
New Orleans is much more modern and big-city than I expected. As Anita remarked, it’s a lot like being in downtown San Diego.
Well, where we are, at least. Once you head into the French Quarter (after dark), you see how much more seedy and dangerous this area is. San Diego is not without its problems, but it’s nothing like this. I’m not necessarily saying I’m afraid of being shot or assaulted by a man in a drunken stupor (of which there are dozens on any given street corner), but let’s just say I was extremely thankful for the police officer standing near the cash register in Walgreen’s this evening.
I say “this evening” when I really mean 2 a.m. Ha.
Around 1:30 a.m., Anita and I decided we were hungry and wanted to forage. Unfortunately, unless you want to drink your dinner, your options are fairly limited. So, we asked the guy at the bellhop desk for a pharmacy (because I feel like I’m getting sick and hoping it’s just my sinuses acting up and wanted to get an antihistamine) and he told us about the Walgreen’s.
We didn’t get lost on the way there, but we sure came close. This frigging city is insane; there are one-way streets everywhere (the majority are one-ways, actually), there are no signs indicating street names, and stoplights don’t seem to be facing any actual direction or even be programmed to pay attention to the traffic. It’s just awful and I don’t want any part of driving around here. (Which is fine, since we have to turn the car in by 3 p.m.)
Anyway, got to Walgreen’s, picked up some Benadryl, Fig Newtons, late dinner items (cold cheeseburgers and yogurt) (don’t tell Mom, but the only yogurt they had was Yoplait and I bought it even though I sympathize with the skunks), and some exciting food products I just couldn’t pass up: kids’ drinks called “Talking Rain” (in blueberry and strawberry, I believe) and a giant pickle in a plastic bag that came in a box reading “Pickle in a Pouch.” Have taken photos of all items and saved for future use (though what they use will be, I haven’t a clue).
Drove through the French Quarter on the way back to the Sheraton and saw just how seedy it really is - at least at night - but saw some interesting places to go, including Dr. Something-or-Other’s Zombie Emporium, Déjà Vu restaurant (“I think I’ve heard of that before!” exclaimed Anita, who didn’t realize why her statement was so funny), and a bar called, appropriately, Bar. Drunken men and women (but mostly men) stumbled around all over the place and before long we deemed it time to go home.
Ooh, I almost forgot: we also drove by a store called Package Liquor and without thinking I blurted out, “They lique your packages.” Had a good laugh over that one.
Also funny: the second story of Package Liquor sold kids’ clothes and travel gear. Totally makes sense to me.
Going to take Benadryl and pass out. Is now 4 a.m. and whoa, I’m exhausted.
Which is fine by me; I don’t mind if we get into New Orleans late. Check-in doesn’t start until 3 and I don’t have anything planned, volunteer-wise, for this evening.
Joey’s mom, Melinda, was supposed to have driven us down to NOLA but apparently either no one had asked her before I got here or something, because she acted like it was a tremendous imposition and I talked Anita into renting a car with me instead and just using it one-way to get to the Enterprise return center at Louis Armstrong airport. Then, we’ll grab the Sheraton shuttle to the hotel.
The south doesn’t just look different, as I mentioned yesterday; it’s a whole different world culture-wise as well. I don’t think I could last even a month here. The societal inequality drives me crazy, and I’m not talking about race relations. I’m talking gender relations here. Women’s liberation, while a great success (IMHO) in California, apparently hasn’t yet made its way to Mississippi.
Damn. I think Anita’s out of the shower. And I was all ready to launch into a huge diatribe, too.
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3:17 a.m.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Ugh.
What a day. So once Anita and I had gotten all our stuff packed up and in Alicia’s car, it was near 3 p.m. Our reservation had been for 1. So, when we got to the Enterprise office we found they’d deleted all our information and pegged us as no-shows.
After giving them all the info again, we were able to get a Pontiac G6, which apparently Anita has heard of but I haven’t. It’s a great little car but is painted an awful color - I think it’s roughly the color of Dad’s F150 (“Desert Sand” or something).
We’d barely left the Enterprise office when we realized we hadn’t eaten all day, so we stopped just off the I-55 at a greasy spoon. (An honest-to-God greasy spoon. I haven’t eaten at one of those since my [biological] dad and I used to drive up to Oregon to visit Uncle Mick and Aunt Sue.)
I’d sworn that if I came across a true Southern dish, I’d try it. So, instead of having a bacon cheeseburger I had a catfish po-boy. It was awesome; rolled in cornmeal and deep-fried, but it wasn’t greasy and oily and heavy. It was really light and the fish was so mild you couldn’t even tell you were eating fish (which is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned most of the time).
Got back on the highway and drove… and drove… and drove… Crossed a huge bridge that skimmed above trees and swampland. I didn’t even really think houses like those existed - you know, the kind that basically rise out of the swamp and rest on stilts. But there they were in all their rural, Southern glory. I was amazed.
I was on the phone with Mom pretty much the whole trip; I think she liked knowing where we were and feeling as though she was there just in case we got lost or ran into some sort of trouble or something. I was glad she was there, too.
Just as we got into New Orleans, it started raining. That was followed by lightning the likes of which I’d never seen - it was like strobe lights. I kept gasping and freaking Anita out. *Grin*
Unfortunately, it got really bad just as we realized we’d passed our exit and were getting lost. Then, we got stuck in the afternoon/evening rush and traffic slowed to a crawl.
Eventually - and I don’t even remember how - we turned around and made our way back toward the Superdome (which is where we’d meant to be in the first place). At a toll booth, the very patient woman at the till gave us great directions and we made it to the hotel.
Pulled up, got our luggage piled on a trolley, and went to the check-in desk. Everything was going fine until the guy checking us in (Kyle Metzger; don’t ask why Anita and I remembered his name. Probably because he was pretty darn cute) asked me for a credit card to which they could charge the entire amount of our ten-night stay here at the Sheraton. I practically died. Instead, I handed over my debit/MasterCard and told him he could try it but it probably wouldn’t go through.
It didn’t. (Shock of all shocks.) My limit for payments is $500/day and he was trying to charge $2,300 on it. Plus, even if it had gone through, I didn’t have $2,300 in my account; I’m lucky at this point if I have $1,000 total, including what’s in my savings account.
So I did what most 20-something-year-olds would do: I panicked, then called Mommy. *G* Next followed a tremendous rush as I asked to borrow the full amount, but it had to be transferred to my account right then, which wasn’t going to happen. Then she suggested using my Capital One card, but I’d already had to use that on the rental car today (nearly $300!) and my limit’s only $500 (which I’ve insisted upon from the beginning because I don’t want to go into debt and know I would).
Happily, the hotel gods smiled upon us. I asked if I could pay with a credit card that wasn’t present and wasn’t in my name (it was a long shot, I figured, but hey, what did I have to lose at that point? It’s not like I had any dignity left), and surprisingly, he said yes. He would fax Mom an authorization form, which she would complete and fax back along with copies of her driver’s license and credit card. He then suggested Anita and I go have a drink at the lobby bar to calm our nerves, as we were - oh, all right; I was - a bit frazzled by that point.
We decided that was the best idea we’d heard all day and happily traipsed over to the Pelican Bar. One vodka-cranberry (me) and one tequila sunrise (Anita) later, Mom had faxed all the papers, Kyle had signed us in, and we were assigned to room 2404.
It’s gorgeous here. Very upscale. I’m not falling all over myself in delight because I knew what to expect, but I’m not so jaded that I’m not very happy to be here and impressed with the hotel in its entirety. The best feature of our room, of course, is the view out the large floor-to-ceiling window: the southern portion of Canal Street, Harrah’s Casino (which we have at home, so whoopee), several other large buildings, and the Mississippi River. Though we didn’t check in until after dark and I haven’t seen much of the river, I know it’s there and am in love with the idea of being so near the water.
New Orleans is much more modern and big-city than I expected. As Anita remarked, it’s a lot like being in downtown San Diego.
Well, where we are, at least. Once you head into the French Quarter (after dark), you see how much more seedy and dangerous this area is. San Diego is not without its problems, but it’s nothing like this. I’m not necessarily saying I’m afraid of being shot or assaulted by a man in a drunken stupor (of which there are dozens on any given street corner), but let’s just say I was extremely thankful for the police officer standing near the cash register in Walgreen’s this evening.
I say “this evening” when I really mean 2 a.m. Ha.
Around 1:30 a.m., Anita and I decided we were hungry and wanted to forage. Unfortunately, unless you want to drink your dinner, your options are fairly limited. So, we asked the guy at the bellhop desk for a pharmacy (because I feel like I’m getting sick and hoping it’s just my sinuses acting up and wanted to get an antihistamine) and he told us about the Walgreen’s.
We didn’t get lost on the way there, but we sure came close. This frigging city is insane; there are one-way streets everywhere (the majority are one-ways, actually), there are no signs indicating street names, and stoplights don’t seem to be facing any actual direction or even be programmed to pay attention to the traffic. It’s just awful and I don’t want any part of driving around here. (Which is fine, since we have to turn the car in by 3 p.m.)
Anyway, got to Walgreen’s, picked up some Benadryl, Fig Newtons, late dinner items (cold cheeseburgers and yogurt) (don’t tell Mom, but the only yogurt they had was Yoplait and I bought it even though I sympathize with the skunks), and some exciting food products I just couldn’t pass up: kids’ drinks called “Talking Rain” (in blueberry and strawberry, I believe) and a giant pickle in a plastic bag that came in a box reading “Pickle in a Pouch.” Have taken photos of all items and saved for future use (though what they use will be, I haven’t a clue).
Drove through the French Quarter on the way back to the Sheraton and saw just how seedy it really is - at least at night - but saw some interesting places to go, including Dr. Something-or-Other’s Zombie Emporium, Déjà Vu restaurant (“I think I’ve heard of that before!” exclaimed Anita, who didn’t realize why her statement was so funny), and a bar called, appropriately, Bar. Drunken men and women (but mostly men) stumbled around all over the place and before long we deemed it time to go home.
Ooh, I almost forgot: we also drove by a store called Package Liquor and without thinking I blurted out, “They lique your packages.” Had a good laugh over that one.
Also funny: the second story of Package Liquor sold kids’ clothes and travel gear. Totally makes sense to me.
Going to take Benadryl and pass out. Is now 4 a.m. and whoa, I’m exhausted.