The Big Easy Omissions

Man, I forgot a couple good things from my boring New Orleans post.

First of all, if you haven't been to New Orleans, you need to know that open containers are all good there.  So, you can buy drinks in a bar, walk around with them and even take them into other bars.  This freedom caused one of my coworkers to say the following (after several hurricanes):

"I love this open container law.  I feel like its much more green, much less wasteful."

OK.  Whatever pulls your trigger, but it is pretty awesome.  Getting late and you want to go home?  You don't have to slam your drink or leave it at the bar, you have an automatic road soda.

The second thing I forgot to include was how I almost got into a fight, but am so quick-witted and handsome, I was able to avoid it.

So, I, along with some friends and coworkers get to our final stop around 1am on Thursday.  Great indoor/outdoor bar with an awesome band.  I take drink orders, go to the bar, and order.  At the bar is a guy, probably in his mid-to-late thirties and a woman (maybe his girlfriend?).  He comments, "I hope that drink (vodka tonic) is for you."  I repond, "No, it's for one of my coworkers."  This is where it all begins (well, I guess his first comment is where it all began, but I digress).

Guy:  "Man, how does it feel to be in love with your coworker?"

Me (knowing where this is going):  "Nah, just ordering drinks."

Guy:  "I mean, how does it feel to so obviously pine after a coworker?"

Me:  "Listen man, I'm here with some friends and coworkers.  I'm just ordering drinks."

Guy:  "You must be in love with this woman to get her a drink like that."

Me:  "Nah man, just trying to have a good time with some friends."

Guy:  "No, you're in love with her."

Woman:  "That's not what he said at all, he is just getting her a drink."

I pay for the drinks and walk away.

A little while later later, my friends and I are hanging out, rocking to the tunes, just being awesome, when this douche bag walks by and feels the need to talk to me.  So he says the following while I was standing next to one of my female coworkers (I only got her a water, so I must not be in love with her):

"So, is this the coworker you're in love with?"

Now, what this guy didn't expect, was for me to notice the two drinks he was holding: mini High Lifes, maybe 8oz.

I love ripping the High Life when I've been doing something very American and manly, such as roofing or using a chain saw on fallen tree limbs.  However, this is New Orleans, Louisiana.  You don't order small beers.  Ever.  He may have actually pay for these beers with his testicles, because I don't think you can be allowed to have them if you order mini beers.

My coworker and I see these and just start laughing and pointing.  and I respond with, "What's going on, you couldn't handle the full size?"

Guy:  "It's the High Life."

Me:  "They should be bigger."

Guy:  "C'mon, it's the HIGH LIFE!"

Me:  "They should be bigger."

Guy, trying to change the subject):  "So, is this the coworker?"

At this point, I walk up to him, pat him a bit too firmly on the back and get right in his ear and say:  "They should be bigger."  Then, I walk away and this bro looked extremely defeated.  As much as I wanted to slug this guy, I figured getting arrested while away for a conference would not be a good look.

-Big Ran

The Big Easy

The first stop on my four state odyssey was New Orleans, Louisiana.  Now, I had been pumped about this trip for a long time for a few reasons.  One, I hadn't been to New Orleans since I was a senior in college for the NCAA tournament.  I was there in March, it happened to be 88 degrees, our hotel had a rooftop pool, was in walking distance of Bourbon Street, and I was 21; pretty much the perfect storm of sloppiness.  We were there four days, three nights, and didn't leave a second too early.  On the flight back, the flight attendant kept bringing us Gatorade without even asking us if we wanted them and she gave us a bunch to pack in our bag for the rest of the trip.  Mother Theresa ain't got sh!t on her. 

Secondly, I was going with a few people in my office for a conference, so it was going to be a good time.  Three of us flew Jet Blew down to New Orleans, so I am totally planning on rocking that Direct TV for the entire flight - no book, no magazines.  Big mistake.  As soon as we board, one of the flight attendants announces that the TVs aren't work, and I let out a rather loud/aggressive groan.  I was bullsh!t.  To Jet Blue's credit, we got a small credit for a future flight.  I would have rather had the TV.  Well, I proceed to not speak to my co-workers the rest of the flight and sleep most of the way.

To cut to the chase, our staff went out to a classy dinner, had a few drinks, then hit up Bourbon Street.  Now, two of us had been to New Orleans before, so we wanted to introduce them to hurricanes at Pat O'Brien's, the bar that invented the hurricane, which is a unholy mix of every alcohol you can imagine and a bright red fruit mix.  Let me tell you, if you suffer from acid reflux like I do, DON'T DRINK HURRICANES.  God damn, these things killed me for like a week.  

We end up heading to a few bars with a big crew, keeping my boss out until about 1am (a time I don't think he's seen in 10 years, and others until about 2am.  Now, I am sharing a hotel room with my boss because the conference was bringing a huge number of people to the city, but still a bit of an awkward proposition in a city like New Orleans.  I get back to my room around 3am and try to open the door, only to discover that he has closed that dead bolt/security latch thing.  F*CK.  I wait 30 seconds to see if he wakes up, then I try again.  On the plus side, it is impossible to push that latch open from the outside.  On the negative side, I am wondering where I am going to sleep.  Finally, he rambles over in just his boxers, apologizing for locking me out.

About four hours later, I miraculously wake up because I had set my alarm for 7pm rather than am.  I take a quick personal inventory and realize that I am not hung over, but that is only because I am still pretty drunk.  However, I figure, if I don't get in the shower now, it's never going to happen.  When I get out of the shower, my boss says the following things to me:

"How are you awake and moving right now?" A: Because I am still drunk (didn't actually say that).

"I am never going out with you and Amy (my co-worker who can hang) again."

"Do you have any asprin."

Loved it, loved it all.  On top of that, we go to breakfast and he couldn't even look at food.  So, ultimately, I looked like a champ because I was ready to go at 7am after getting in at 3am and he felt like a truck hit him. What I will go to the grave with is that when he left later in the day for his flight back, I crushed a nap in the room, skipping part of the conference.

The tough part about a conference in New Orleans is knowing a ton of people there and having such easy access to Bourbon Street.  All I wanted to do that night was sleep, but that, obviously, wasn't an option.  My body can't handle consecutive nights and I had three hard ones.  I couldn't wait for the rest of my trip when I wouldn't have to go out with anyone.  Socializing takes a lot of effort when you're inflicting that much damage to your body.  The lesson here?  Don't get old.  Maybe stop at aging 26, that's possible, right?

A couple notes to add before wrapping up:

Watch out for trannies on Bourbon Street.  And, if your into trannies, definitely watch out for them, I won't judge you.  I also saw a woman in a piano bar that could have been Ozzy Osbourne.  I mean looked just like him, I couldn't stop staring at "her."

As I was heading back the first night, I saw a dude walk up to a woman and ask, "How much?"  She said, "$40."  He then proceeded to hand her two $20 bills and lead her into an alley off of Bourbon Street.  Woof. 

-Big Ran