Sorry that I've been uncharacteristically silent this past week, but I don't like to advertise in advance when I'm going traveling. No sense making things easy for burglars and the like, you know?
So Monday morning, I got myself down to Baltimore Washington International Airport (BWI), and hopped on a flight for a ride down to Charlotte, North Carolina. Now this was only a transfer point, but because the cretinous sloths at US Airways couldn't manage the basic task of "Get airplane from one airport to another in time to catch the passengers' transfers", I wound up loitering there for a few extra hours while US Airways personnel continued to refuse to do one damned thing to make up for their screw-up...I mean, things happen, but when you mess up someone's travel and make them spend hours in an airport instead of at their destination, at least throw them a little bone. Offer an upgrade to one of those empty First Class seats, come up with a voucher for another flight, give the poor guy a phone number of an attractive stewardess or two...hell, anything to at least acknowledge that you screwed up and are willing to try to make things right. That's a little thing called "customer service" and it used to be the norm in the business world. It's disappearance is one reason why that other phenomenon known as "customer loyalty" has faded away as well. You can get on your little PA system all you like and invite me to fly with you again, US Airways shills. It's not going to work after you hosed me and then blew me off when I asked you to either fix it by shoehorning me onto another flight in a timely fashion or at least give me something for my trouble, even if it was trivial to the point of uselessness. Sometimes the thought DOES count but the lack of any thought ALWAYS counts.
Oh, and whoever thought to book a family with a small child on an airliner should have been forced to ride that same plane and listen to the little bastard screech and cry most of the flight just like we all had to do. What's wrong with special seating for those kids and their parents...the ones who refuse to shush or stifle their kid? How about putting them in the baggage compartment, or maybe offering the kid some nice plastic wrap to play with? It makes a really neat mask when you wrap it around your head, kid. I even offered to buy the kid a whiskey when the stewardess came by with the drink cart, but she was a bitch and wouldn't help me send the kid off to drunken-stuporland for the good of the rest of the passenger list.
But I eventually got out of Charlotte, and a couple hours later, I was stepping out into the afternoon sun in the Big Easy--New Orleans, Louisiana...my adopted hometown. And instantly, everything was right with the world.
There was a time that I'd lived here, and I've returned frequently since, pretty much right up until Katrina came along. This was my first trip back since the storm, and it was good to see that not much had changed...at least in the parts of the city that matter: The French Quarter area and Uptown.
Actually the French Quarter's nicer now that the nearby Iberville public housing cesspool and strategic criminal reserve is virtually gone. No more women sitting around the French Quarter on buckets or milk crates as their litters of kids pretend to dance or just stand there and beg, no more hustlers asking for change for a twenty so that they can snag your wallet as soon as you open it, and no more calls of "Hey, I bet you five dollars that I can tell you where you got your shoes!" (The correct answer: "You got em on your feet." Don't fall for the sucker trick and if you do, for God's sake don't give the guy $5. It only encourages them.)
It felt good to be back in the quarter, even if only as a short-term visitor. I stayed in the Hotel St. Louis on Bienville Street, just off Bourbon. It was the first time I'd ever stayed there, and I have to say that for the price and location, it was excellent.
It was already evening, so I stowed my gear in my room and went out for dinner, then took a turn around the Quarter to make sure that it was as I'd left it. It was, and it didn't take long for me to actually start running into old friends and acquaintances. After a while, I began to feel as if I'd never left.
I was a bit disappointed to see all of the newer strip clubs popping up, especially chains with the Larry Flynt name attached to them. Yes, Bourbon Street wouldn't be Bourbon Street without all of the scantily-clad girls hanging out of the doorways and beckoning from windows, but all of these big clubs just take much of the personal charm away from the equation. I also notice that more of the clubs have gone to a Rock music format instead of traditional Jazz, Blues or Cajun sound, but that was happening well before Katrina came along. Pity, because the diversity of music and the really good live music is in danger of being pushed out of the Quarter altogether by a bunch of no-talent nitwits spinning records (Yeah, Famous Door, I'm talking to you) and mediocre house bands trying to cover old classic rock songs.
Still, it just took a couple 32-ounce beers-to-go, and I was at peace with the world. (OK, it was a Condition Yellow sort of peace. One can never afford to get too peaceful in New Orleans.)
Welcome back
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