Two Beaded Necklaces and My Clothes are Still On

Bourbon St., New Orleans - Wednesday, June 15, 2011

As the old saying goes, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do."  So it was that I felt compelled to make the trek to the Mecca of party animals everywhere, Bourbon Street.  Having spent most of my vacation cash, I knew I wasn't going inside any of the bars.  But I also knew there was no charge for observing.

I checked my wallet and found one $5 bill.  I decide to save it for laundry day tomorrow and promised myself not to spend it at the party cess pool I was diving into.  It was an unbreakable oath that I swore to myself.

Once I hit Bourbon Street, the money was gone in about 5 minutes.  You see, I was thirsty.  It had been another hot day and I had just pushed 6 blocks from the hotel.  On this street, it's not just food that's "To Go".  You can pretty much drink anything as long as it's in a plastic cup.  I had no choice.  It is a well-known fact that one must perform this rite of passage in order to stay on the street.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it!  I was given a beaded necklace as well, so that's $5 well spent.

I'm still not quite sure what the allure of Bourbon Street is.  The warm wind was blowing down the street and I detected the distinct odor of stale beer mixed with cat piss and vomit.  Now that's attractive!  New Orleans was recently voted in some poll as the dirtiest city in America (tied with Philly for first).  Since I'm in a wheelchair, my hands quickly became dirty from pushing on the street.  I'm not sure I want to know what's in that dirt, but I'll bet it contains the DNA of a few rodents. 

The sounds coming from the bars reminded me of the opening scene in "Touch of Evil" (Director's cut).  Charleton Heston's character walks with his wife down the street, the music changing as they walk by each bar.  That's what it was like rolling down Bourbon Street - the music jumping from R&B to Jazz to Country and to Zydeco.

I traversed the length of the street, from St. Anne to Canal Street, receiving another necklace by a man on the street (free of charge).  At Canal Street I turned around and headed back.  Part of the way back down, I was handed a "God Loves You" pamphlet from a guy with a severe stuttering problem.  He then noticed I was in a wheelchair and he proceeded to give me another one, labeled "You are Extraordinary".  He kept attempting to say something to me, all the while pointing at me and my wheelchair.  Yeh, I got the point.  I didn't realize there was a tract especially for us gimps!  So exciting.

Shortly thereafter I was semi-accosted by a drunken, dancing lady with no teeth.  I made the mistake of making eye contact with her.  Drunken, dancing ladies are like tigers, they can smell fear.  She was gumming a straw connected to some mysterious concoction, pausing periodically to take a breath.  I engaged her in conversation, noticing at least 5 rubber bracelets on her right wrist.  She proceeding to explain in disjointed English that "this one is Radio Shack, this one is Live Strong, this one is the Army"...and so on.  I didn't know Radio Shack made rubber bracelets, although I decided not to press her further on the subject.

But she was just getting started.  The monologue was a massive series of segues.  I picked up mentions of North Carolina, Alabama, the Bill Clinton Expressway, Western Carolina and some river in Arkansas (?).  She kept talking, her eyes fixated on my hair, dancing rapidly back and forth as if looking for some golden treasure hiding within my follicles. 

Having had enough, I saw my chance to escape.  I squeezed between her and the trash can, pushed down a slight ramp and into the street.  My plastic cup of beer was firmly clenched between my teeth.  She still followed, not really slowing down her rhetoric.  I heard her mention she was a volunteer for something as I pushed ahead and escaped through the crowd.

Volunteers of America, be proud.  You were well-represented on Bourbon Street this Wednesday night.  I'm sure I'll see her in the morning on my way to Cafe du Monde, curled up in a ditch and sleeping it off.  Of course, she fits right in around here.  Only in NOLA and NYC would this behavior be considered "normal".