Homeward bound

Finally back in transit, and once again back in Atlanta. I have a three hour plus layover, and I was reluctantly resigned to that dead time, but then I found out that the very aircraft that I was sitting on was just going to head to Dulles--my destination--in 46 minutes. I checked, and yes, there were several seats still unsold. So I asked the gate agent if, by chance, they'd be willing to throw me a bone and let me just stay with this aircraft instead of loitering for hours just to catch another one going to the same place.

Nope. Not unless I threw them another fifty bucks. Turns out that Delta Airlines will let their planes fly with empty seats rather than accommodate an existing customer who isn't willing to pay for the courtesy. Fuck you, Delta Airlines. This time tomorrow I'll still have my fifty bucks, and given any choice on my part regarding future flights, you'll have one less customer. Plus here's me on the Internet. 

New Orleans was as I remembered, save for the rampant gentrification going on in the Marigny and Bywater areas adjacent to the French Quarter. Areas that I would not have dared walk through twenty years ago are now nice and trendy and more than I can afford for the most part. Still, I did find a place that I really liked, so if things go well...

Yeah, I was there for an interview. A final interview. Now I can just wait and hope.

The area was infested with a lot more gutter punks that I remember. This is the local name for voluntarily homeless/jobless teens who hang out, panhandle, steal and generally annoy everyone else. Nothing like groups of three to five able-bodied young males (and the occasional female) sitting on the sidewalks and asking you repeatedly for money so that they can buy beer or weed. They usually have dogs with them, but that's typically so that the police won't arrest them, because then the officer has to wait on one of the very few animal control officers to respond and that could take hours. I don't mind street musicians, mimes, artists or most of the other assorted quarter creatures out there who are trying to earn via one hustle or another, but these cretins need to be rounded up, forcibly bathed, and shipped en masses to someplace like Mexico. (Hey, if they can flood our county with their refuse...)

One woman who did almost manage to get on my nerves was an Asian woman running a foot massage storefront. As I walked by, she asked me if I wanted a foot massage. I told her "no, thank you" and kept walking. She started to follow me, telling me how amazing the massages were. I told her no again. Then she offered to massage one foot for free, and if I liked it she'd do the other one for half price. I stopped, and in front of a small crowd of passers-by, detached my prosthetic foot and asked her if I needed to wait or if I could come back and get it later. She seemed honestly taken aback and embarrassed, and truth be told, it was fun for me.

Lots of good food and good music, with most of the latter coming from a band called "Radioactive", which is the current house band at Krazy Korner, corner of Bourbon and Toulouse. Sadly, Shavonne, the lead singer, declined my marriage proposal last night. And I didn't hit the Powerball either, so it was just one of those nights. Sigh.

Most posting later, hopefully with pics, once I get back to a real computer. Posting via an iPad on airport free wifi doesn't exactly give you a whole lot of options beyond mere typing.

Now I can't wait to see what sort of seat-mater from hell I'll get this time. The first leg had me sitting next to a huge guy way in the far back of the jet. I'm sure that Delta has some evil surprise in store for me on this next and last leg of the journey as well.