The Fly, The Levy, and all of the Smellies

As I began to settle into my new environment, I found myself starting to relax a little bit.  There is nothing quite like moving to a new place where no one knows who you are.  There are no expectations, no one telling you what they think you should do, and no one honestly gives a crap anyway.  Especially not in New Orleans

I’m talking about men walking down the street wearing a red dress and high heels, women not shaving their legs, and the rich Jews rubbing elbows with them all on Mardi Gras Day.  There’s this thing called a second line where people march down the street with a brass band, and then EVERYONE comes out to dance.  Leave your cares behind, and come out to the swamp.  In New Orleans, they celebrate life every day.

                 It was kind of hard at first for me to get into the mentality.  I'll be honest, coming from a conservative part of the country, everything seemed a little bit off color. The everyday vernacular of the locals even confused me a bit.  Rather than saying “I’m going to the grocery store”, they say, “I’m going to make groceries”.   A coke is a “cold drank”, and it’s not “oil”, it is “earl”.

                I was mesmerized by it all, and it felt amazing.  I felt like I was in the land of the free. 

                That is, until I discovered I was only making about $200 bucks a week at the new restaurant.  Saving up for the new place wasn’t going to go as quickly as I anticipated.  Of course as a dumb 20 year old, I didn’t see the urgency of the situation.  Since I was only working during the day, I had my afternoons to go out and experience the city.  I wasn’t 21 yet, so going to bars, which is the main form of entertainment in NOLA, was out of the question.   It was during this time that Will introduced me to “The Fly” and the levy.  

                So, Will had this group of guys that he had been friends with for a long time and we would all go chill in the evening time at “The Fly”(a river view park behind the Audubon Zoo).  Of course, I was ALWAYS the only chick.  I’ve always had the ability to rub elbows with the fellows and be accepted.  They would all bring their “40’s” and watch the sunset.  At the time, beer disgusted me.  I couldn’t even attempt to keep up with their drinking habits.  Nevertheless, it was on the banks of the Mississippi with a group of smelly boys that I witnessed some of the most beautiful sunsets that I have ever seen in my life. Exhibit A:

The thing I loved most about my time in New Orleans was there was always time to appreciate beauty.  Time goes by just a little bit slower there.

If we couldn’t stake claim to our last gazebo at The Fly, then we would always go down to the tower at the levy.  Same premise, just a little more hands on.  You could go back into the woods and hike down trails that the homeless river dwellers cleared.   

The boys would build fires and throw rocks at beer bottles to see who could make them break.  One time, one of the fellows even built a homemade potato gun and fired off potatoes at the stagnant barges.  The boom of the exploding potato against the rusted steel pierced the air like a firecracker.

As the weeks flew by and I settled into the new job, I began to become more acquainted with my new coworkers too.  A few girls from Pennsylvania, a rambunctious blonde from Chicago, and a VERY hip California girl were some of my first friends.  I had never even touched a bottle of wine in my entire life until I started working at the restaurant.  When the owner asked me if I as comfortable opening wine, I had to say no.  It was the awesome blonde from Chicago that took the time and showed me step by step how to do it.  If it weren’t for her, I would have been clueless.  For some reason, my boss wasn’t very fond of me because of the conversations I would have with one of the Pennsylvania girls. The fact that I couldn’t open wine didn’t exactly work to my advantage either. Pennsylvania was fascinating though.  She was the type of girl who could talk to strangers all day, and BOY did we have a lot to talk about!

These people were cool, they were real.  They weren’t from Texas or Louisiana, they weren’t conservative bible belt Christians.  They were different.  They liked to drink red wine and talk about REAL issues.  They weren’t concerned about small town gossip.  A few of them were even, dare I say, Liberals.

I was totally diggin’ this new life.

Hey Napoleon!

                In this entry I wanted to begin by backtracking a little bit. For those of you who don’t know me very well, it might help for me to give you a little background information about myself so that you understand some of my perceptions.  I come from a very loving home.  I am the middle of five children (Heather, Matthew, Megan, Jacob, Caleb) and we were thankfully raised right by my parents, Doo Doo and Tha Suze.  It was a very conservative, sheltered environment in which I was able to flourish.  In high school I was the goody two shoes over achiever, and I think I was 18 the first time I ever uttered a cuss word.   When I previously mentioned I come from a small town, I’m talking population 2,300 or so in the heart of the Bible Belt.  People leading “alternative lifestyles” weren’t really something you saw widely accepted where I come from, and that’s just the truth.   I always found it kind of weird that Christianity reigned supreme, but there was so much intolerance toward anyone or anything that didn’t fit into the mold.  Heck, I was made fun of in high school because I wasn’t part of the congregational norm.  My family is LDS, aka “Mormon”.  I know how this is sounding, circa age 18 ½  I started getting the “rebel itch”. 

Which reminds me, for those of you who have been following, I just remembered that I was actually 20 when I made the move, not 19.  I was 19 going into that last year of school, and I turned 20 that fall.  I forget how old I am now, sorry for the confusion.  However, same age bracket, same level of not knowing your butt from a hole in the ground. 

Onward: So, Wednesday, August 13, 2008 I arrived at the restaurant wearing a yellow blouse and black trousers.  I came in through the side door, and when my eyes beheld what was in front of me I had to do a double take.  The first thing I noticed was the curly, sandy blonde fro.  Then as he turned around, and at first sight of his face, I had to seriously question myself. “Hi, I’m ******, you’re one of the new girls, right?”

This dude seriously looked EXACTLY like Napoleon Dynamite.

  I jest ye not, it was uncanny.  The resemblance was so shocking, I even asked him later on that day “umm…has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like, um, John Heder?”  His response: “Yeah, I’ve heard that before, but I don’t see it”. 

Obviously, my first character to be discussed, codename: Napoleon.  There was another very nice young man working that day with blonde hair, charming speech, and beautiful clothes. He was my first up close glimpse of that “alternative lifestyle”.  He was such a sweetheart, so codename: Sweetie Pie.

Thus began my day, with Napoleon and the Sweetie Pie.  They started showing me the ropes on how to do stuff, “coffee, in a filter, in the coffee maker,” stated Napoleon.  “White table cloths, butcher paper, plates, napkins,” chimed in sweetie pie. “Oh yeah, and we make our own drinks everyday,”  Napoleon chirped.  I’ll be completely honest, the fact that I had JUST came from a restaurant where all I had to do was refill my sugar caddies and sweep my section at the end of the shift  made all of the prep crap look pretty lame.  That was my lazy side thinking, though.

“Let me show you how to cut the Limes,” Napoleon offered. Little did I know that over the course of four years, I would cut close to one million.  Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but dammit I cut a lot of freaking limes!

When service began for the day, after an hour and a half of prepping, I began to see all of the beautiful food coming out of the window.  I had never seen food like this before in my entire life.  If it wasn’t American food, I.e. , Chili’s, Cheddar’s, TGIF’S, etc.. OR not covered in beans, cheese, and served with tortilla chips, I was at a loss.  Actually, thanks to my Cajun roots, I did know most of that stuff too.  This stuff, however, was a HUGE mystery.  I remember that first week when I had to try the ceviche.  Fish marinated in lime juice? What the hell?  In that moment I wasn’t a huge fan, but as time passed it became a staple and something that I craved.  By the way, it’s super healthy too.  A lot of cuisine there was healthy.  As I started to meet more of my coworkers, I started to be more exposed to weird ideas like veganism and being conscious of planet earth.  “Hi, my name is Megan, and I like to eat meat and use Clorox products when I clean my house.” Oh no, no, no.  I was about to get schooled in environmental consciousness, but we’ll save that for future blogs. 

Napoleon was a very interesting character.  He had served in the Navy, but had to be released for health issues.  He was the kind of guy to tell you EXACTLY what he was thinking, and  not really one of those to keep comments to himself.  He was the one who informed me of the sexual orientation of everyone who worked there.  He also knew all of the juicy gossip, as if I cared.  I was in a severe cultural shock.  He also made a Mormon joke on my first day, and when he noticed the awkward expression on my face he said, “Oh crap, you’re a Mormon aren’t you?” 

Unfortunately, that October Napoleon was relieved of his duties at the restaurant for not showing up on Halloween night.  A few years later in passing he told me that he really regretted doing that.  Listen, there was a lot of prep to do at this place, and like everywhere it had its crap, but compared to other restaurants around town it was like a haven. 

In conclusion, my first day was not as expected.  I was told by the boss that I was going to start out as a back waiter (server slave), and work my way up.  My own progression would determine how quickly I would become a server, and it would also determine how quickly I would be able to move into night time shifts.

 I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

"New Orleans is Hawt as Hell in da Summatime"

                I triumphantly arrived to Uptown New Orleans at 12:07 p.m. July 29, 2008.  The AC in the old CR-V struggled to keep up with the heat the entire journey.  As I opened the door and flew out into the busy little street, nearly getting run down by the cars driving TOO FAST, I noticed I was kind of gross.  I quickly found out that no one really cares what you look like there.  There’s no point in putting make-up on when the humidity is 100% EVERY DAY.  New Orleans= hipsterville, no make-up, no deodorant, no problem.  Hell, just dred-up your locks and you’ll be just fine.

                As I was opening the iron gate to the old house, an elderly black gentleman walked past me and sang out, “Sheeeew, New Orleans is HAWT AS HELL in da summatime”.  I would later learn the appropriate response to this proclamation would have been, “YEA, YOU RIGHT!”

                So, here’s the thing about knowing everything when you are 20, you really don’t know crap. The euphoria of life is from the confidence in believing that you want or want to do something.  When you finally get slapped by the icy pimp hand of reality, elementary knowledge starts to sink in once again.  Remember that $1500 dollars I had saved up?  Not QUITE enough to find a place right off the bat.  The cheapest apartment I could find was $750, plus $750 for deposit. It’s basic math, 750 plus 750 equals 1500, equals broke. This also equals no gas money, no smokes, no student loan payment, for which I do not have a degree to show for, by the way, and no cell phone payment.  I obviously couldn’t afford to use all of my savings right from the get go, so I set out to get myself in the NOLA workforce. It was like eating a big old slice of humble pie that I couldn’t even afford to eat HA.

 I started to notice a few snags in my master plan. No one wanted to hire a waitress with only 2 ½ months experience.  I applied to every restaurant up and down St. Charles Ave. in the BLISTERING heat sweating my buns off. The service industry is the heart and soul of New Orleans, and nearly every person that I met while there was a member of the force or had been at some point in their lives. However, everywhere I went the story was the same, “sorry, we’re in our slow months, come back in October”.  October!? I didn’t have time to lose, and I’ve never been the type to be easily broken.   After the third day of “so sorry”, I decided to see what was up on craigslist.  There wasn’t very much to choose from, but, I noticed a post that read “Bistro seeking back waiters and servers”.  Happenstance.

                Of course I clicked on the link, and in doing so, I ultimately set forth my path in motion.  No, I didn’t know what a back waiter was, but I surely wanted to be one.  The ad was very brief, only stating “Small restaurant on Magazine seeking back waiters and servers.  Please call for more information 555-555-5555. “ So I called, and spoke with a very nice lady who invited me to come for an interview. 

                The Lord has blessed me with the ability to smile through it all.  Honey, did I EVER smile as I sat down with the owner and she asked me a few questions.  I feel like it was my saving grace, for a few years later as I was going through my file I stumbled across a note on my application that said “very bubbly personality, nice smile”.  Needless to say, I was hired.  My philosophy: your uniform is not complete without a smile…..even if it is sequins.  I have my high school years to thank for that.

                This interview was on a Tuesday, August 12, 2008 to be exact.  My first day was the next day, Wednesday, August 13.  I was asked to wear black slacks and a nice bright blouse and to show up at 10:00 a.m.  So, I did. Thus began the beginning of a journey that would test my limits, thicken my skin, and introduce me to the most vivid characters I had ever been exposed to.  Welcome to New Orleans, Megan.

In the Beginning, there was a CR-V and an Idiot

                I’ll be completely honest, I moved to New Orleans to be with my boyfriend Will.  Also, I was sick of the same old same old of Southeast Texas.  I was 20 then, and I didn’t have a CLUE about ANYTHING.  I had spent my last semester using my student loan money to make sneak trips to New Orleans.  I’ll never forget the first time I went as an “adult” (meaning over the age of 18, I wasn’t an adult mentally).  I actually had the blessing of my parents to drive to NOLA in my 97’ CR-V to visit Will and his family for Christmas. 

                I was so nervous on that four hour drive.  I left home around 8 in the morning the day after Christmas, and set out to find my future.  Just me, the open road, and Rachel Yamagata (Megan, the emo years).   When I got to Baton Rouge, there was an idiot in a red truck who held up a sign against his driver's side window that read, “what’s your number?”  It was at that moment that I knew I wasn’t in Texas anymore, and I was dealing with a WHOLE new breed of redneck.

                That first trip to NOLA was intoxicating. Will spent the entire trip chauffeuring me around the city to show me the sights.  It was so different than the mundane SeTex country side I was so acclimated to viewing.  The elementary school he had attended years ago was in a building that was erected circa 1920 in the middle of a neighborhood lined with shotgun houses. I must admit, I thought on my French roots and immediately felt like I belonged.  I fell hopelessly in love with the scene.  THAT is the charm of the city, that is why so many people call it their refuge.  There is such a sense of unity and togetherness everywhere you go.  “How you doing?”  or “okay baaybay” are common things you would hear from any given person on a daily basis.  My first impression, though, was not of the people, but of the beauty of the city itself. New Orleans is like something out of a period piece.  It’s classic, and a lot of it is unchanged as the decades pass by.  The huge houses on St. Charles Ave and the charm of the French Quarter, still as it was a hundred years ago, are breath taking. I could go on and on.  If you’ve never been there, there isn’t really a whole lot that I could put into words that would accurately describe the magnificence.  As a previous architecture student (who thought she knew what was up), I was hooked.  It was like sugar for my sweet tooth, air in my lungs, and music to my ears.

                I didn’t want to come home.  That was when I knew I wanted to live there.  I immediately started developing the plan in my head on how it was going to become a reality.

                So, I’ve discussed the CR-V part of the title, let me expand on the idiot part. 

                I decided that my $7.25 an hour job wasn’t going to get me anywhere fast, so my dear friend from high school hooked me up with a server job.  I was BIG ballin’ at the end of June with $1000 bucks in my bank account, and I knew that the time was approaching.  I put in my two weeks prior to the last week in July, told my mom on July 27^th that was I moving July 29^th.  That’s right, this idiot gave her parents a two day notice of evacuation of the premises with $1500 IN DA BANK.  Peace out SeTex. 

                Ballin. HA. It makes me “smh” when I think about it. The plan was, I was going to move in with my boyfiend’s mom until I could find a new job and get a place on my own. I would enroll in school as soon as I had things "figured out".  That morning of July 29, 2008 I loaded up my CR-V with all of my clothes, said a very sad goodbye to my parents, and hit the road.  Windows were rolled down, shades were on, cigarette was hanging out of my mouth, and Brand New was blasting.  “Jude Law, and a Semester Abroad”.  That was one of my life’s greatest “Movie moments”.

                The next coming weeks and months would be NOT as I expected.  I was twenty, in love with life, and quite frankly, stupid.

Confessions of a Humbled Servant: Forward

Confessions of a Humbled Servant

                So as you all know, I just spent the past four years of my life living it up jazzy style in “The Big Easy”.   I kind of fell off of the radar, and the rest of the planet for that matter.  Life in New Orleans was QUITE the humbling experience for me.  Jumping out of the proverbial “mother ship”, aka the parent’s umbrella, turned out to be the biggest challenge of my life.   Since all of my laptops kept getting infected by a rogue worm and dying, I didn’t really have the internet.  That is unless you count the Samsung Continuum I carry around in my purse (I hate getting on my phone for internet access, by the way).  As far as never calling anyone from said Samsung, I’ll be completely honest, there’s no excuse other than my head just wasn’t there.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my family and friends DEARLY!  Life in New Orleans just does that to you, you forget that there’s another world out there and that you are literally in a bowl sinking into the earth.

  I would say after four years of residence my emotions are actually a little jumbled.  I experienced things that I probably just shouldn’t have, but I also experienced some pretty cool things too.  I met the most insanely awesome people I’ve ever met, but I also met the scums of the earth.  Sure, you can say “that’s just everywhere, Megz”, to which my reply would be “I don’t think so, Tim”.  There are things that happen in New Orleans that just simply DO NOT happen anywhere else.  There are some things that I experienced that, if you weren’t there with me, I will probably never talk about, and we’ll leave it at that. 

That’s not really where I want to go with this blog, I really want to talk about my good experiences.  I worked in the SAME restaurant the entire time that I was there.  It was like home, like family, in all of its dysfunctional glory.  I have made ties there that I will probably have for the rest of my life.  Every day was a new day different from the one before.  I met people from all over the world, and I learned how to speak conversational Spanish.  Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.  Every day I would think to myself,” man I need to be writing this stuff down!”  I was always taught that a journal is a very good habit.  If I didn’t have time to call my maw-maw though, I sure as hell didn’t have time to write in a journal. My point is this, everyone has a story.  Everyone that I met in New Orleans had a story, and through meeting them, I started to author my own. 

This blog is going to be comprised of the good times, some bad times, and the ridiculous things that I witnessed during my stay.  It will be a testament to the growth that I experienced.  I moved to New Orleans as a naïve girl from Texas, and left as a strong woman who knows EXACTLY what she wants out of life. For all the good and bad things, I am grateful.  A man at my new job told me that “New Orleans is the cesspool of Louisiana and should just fall off into the Gulf”.   I looked at him and politely said “that cesspool helped make me who I am today”.  Go figure.  This stubborn redhead had to find out for herself.

For the sake of respect, I will use code names for my characters mentioned in this blog. Friends, if you message me and give me your permission, I will use your real names, otherwise, you will be called something like “snow white” or “guy with the long hair”.   Get ready to have your minds BLOWN and laissez le bon temps rouler!!!