This is an expansion of a comment to
Acadian's diary encouraging readers to come to New Orleans for Jazz Festival at the end of the month. While I applaud the intent, I'd like to reiterate that we're a bit, shall we say, frazzled down here. For an idea of how frazzled, do look into
Times-Picayune columnist Chris Rose's new book
1 Dead in Attic, or read his columns archived at
the T-P.
So, despite our well-earned reputation for hospitality, the usual Jazz Fest crowd of Hawaiian-shirted, drunk-by-noon, freer-than-I've-ever-felt visitors may find a less than overjoyed welcome.
It's not that we don't appreciate your patronage. We really do. We love the fact that you've been pulling for us since the storm, keeping the pressure on Washington to get us decent levees, helping out folks like Habitat and the N.O. Musician's Clinic. We love that you want to come here and spread your limited dough around. But please bear in mind, we're a bit fragile right now.
Under the fold, you'll find my orignal comment to Acadian, plus a couple of other thoughts.
The comment:
If you're coming down for the Fest, I'd ask that you keep in mind a couple of things:
First, we're all a bit stressed right now. We're innundated with telephone operators masquerading as drivers, cackling sadists claiming to be insurance adjusters, amateur hour stooges who've somehow forged contractors licenses and a federal response based on the famous line from the Simpsons: "Hey, he's really hurt--let's get outta here!"
Second, we're having a hard time getting enough for ourselves. I've yet to have a shrimp po-boy from Parkway down the street, as their ability to get decent La. shrimp varies day to day.
For these and other reasons, we ask that, whether this is your first visit or your fiftieth, please treat us with a little respect and patience. Don't park your car in our driveways--and don't move the barricades to make a space. If the restaurant says there's an hour wait, simply decide whether you wish to wait or find another eatery. Spewing a diatribe about how fucked up we are won't help you and frankly, we've already got a good idea how fucked up we are right now.
In short, put up with it, whatever it is. For centuries, we have been the epitome of gracious hospitality in America, giving more than we're recompensed, striving to make visitors feel like there could never be another place like this. And, from the number of people I've met around the world whose eyes soften and smiles broaden when they reminisce about their visits, we've done a damn good job.
This year, if you're coming, I beg you: cut us some slack, take what comes, pay with a smile (and a large tip) and, if you value your paint job, please don't park in my driveway.
Okay, perhaps a bit harsh, and maybe too nonspecific. Here are a couple of practical suggestions:
Bring contractor grade trash bags, the 3-mil kind. Keep a couple in your car and use them for your jetsam. And take the full ones with you, because the Corps of Engineers is way behind in picking up debris and Waste Management is within a week's fuckup of losing their black bag contract. For real goodwill, leave the leftover bags with someone here. They run out of the good ones at the Home Depot pretty regularly.
Second, think about taking a little extra time while you're here and volunteering your time. If Habitat or Catholic Charities have no leads for you, you can always head down to the St. Bernard Civic Center and say you want to help gut homes. They've got lots of opportunities. If you're serious and can't find a way to plug in, email me and I'll try and hook you up with people who need help.
Finally, if you'll be in town on the Monday between the weekends, all are welcome at my house for red beans and rice, which we've been serving to any who show up since October.
Just remember what I said about the driveway.
P.S. to Acadian: Mardi Gras was fabulous, the best since '79. Plus, I finally made a costume that everybody got.