Comments on: Waiting http://neworleans.metblogs.com/2008/09/02/waiting/ Thu, 26 Jan 2012 16:09:23 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.2.1 By: laurie2 http://neworleans.metblogs.com/2008/09/02/waiting/comment-page-1/#comment-14665 laurie2 Wed, 03 Sep 2008 03:03:54 +0000 http://neworleans.metblogs.com/?p=2042#comment-14665 We left from Baton Rouge to St. Charles Parish no one stopped us. Just be vigilant for fallen power lines. Laurie We left from Baton Rouge to St. Charles Parish no one stopped us.

Just be vigilant for fallen power lines.

Laurie

]]> By: jethro http://neworleans.metblogs.com/2008/09/02/waiting/comment-page-1/#comment-14662 jethro Tue, 02 Sep 2008 17:49:44 +0000 http://neworleans.metblogs.com/?p=2042#comment-14662 ahhh waiting to come home, with a million more, all at once, Just say the word Mayor, and start "The Mother of All Gridlock". It'll make ya famous... ahhh waiting to come home, with a million more, all at once, Just say the word Mayor, and start "The Mother of All Gridlock". It’ll make ya famous…

]]> By: quarterflea http://neworleans.metblogs.com/2008/09/02/waiting/comment-page-1/#comment-14661 quarterflea Tue, 02 Sep 2008 16:48:23 +0000 http://neworleans.metblogs.com/?p=2042#comment-14661 tales from the great white north So I finally evacuated because I got tired of lying to my friends on the phone. "Yes, I've got a plan. No, I'm not staying this time. Where? Um..." I swore I wouldn't do it again sober and alone, and as my sweetie's mom panicked and sent him a plane ticket, I decided to go. Sunday morning, after staying up all night, hoping for a more westward storm path, I resignedly walked from my French Quarter apartment to Rampart Street. I waited until daylight, as there was no way I wanted to stroll Rampart with evacuation gear. (read:CASH) The 7 am bus to the train station was packed, and oddly quiet, but for the screaming babies. Perky volunteers greeted me with bottles of water and a bar-coded wristband. Herds of people streamed onto cushy buses, the kind that take little old ladies to the casino. Even the conductor didn't know where we were going. A pimply-faced, heavily armed Guardsman asked him if he had GPS. "GPS? Son, I got MAPS!" We headed to I-10 and finally got a destination: the airport. My herd cheered. My heart sank. I planned to hop a bus to Shreveport to hole up with my parents in quiet, air-conditioned comfort, the only annoying youngster being my folks' late-in-life dog. Instead, I was efficiently arm-banded and watered, (again!), run through security and directed to the plane. Take-off was interesting: most of the passengers had never been on a plane. Whoops, cheers and whistles accompanied the takeoff. It felt like the beginning of a Saints game, minus the Wave. The flight attendant nervously asked the passengers to SIT DOWN. "What are them white things out there?" "Those are clouds," I told my fellow passenger, "would you like to sit by the window?" tales from the great white north
So I finally evacuated because I got tired of lying to my friends on the phone. "Yes, I’ve got a plan. No, I’m not staying this time. Where? Um…" I swore I wouldn’t do it again sober and alone, and as my sweetie’s mom panicked and sent him a plane ticket, I decided to go. Sunday morning, after staying up all night, hoping for a more westward storm path, I resignedly walked from my French Quarter apartment to Rampart Street. I waited until daylight, as there was no way I wanted to stroll Rampart with evacuation gear. (read:CASH) The 7 am bus to the train station was packed, and oddly quiet, but for the screaming babies. Perky volunteers greeted me with bottles of water and a bar-coded wristband.
Herds of people streamed onto cushy buses, the kind that take little old ladies to the casino. Even the conductor didn’t know where we were going. A pimply-faced, heavily armed Guardsman asked him if he had GPS. "GPS? Son, I got MAPS!"
We headed to I-10 and finally got a destination: the airport. My herd cheered. My heart sank.
I planned to hop a bus to Shreveport to hole up with my parents in quiet, air-conditioned comfort, the only annoying youngster being my folks’ late-in-life dog.
Instead, I was efficiently arm-banded and watered, (again!), run through security and directed to the plane. Take-off was interesting: most of the passengers had never been on a plane. Whoops, cheers and whistles accompanied the takeoff. It felt like the beginning of a Saints game, minus the Wave. The flight attendant nervously asked the passengers to SIT DOWN.
"What are them white things out there?"
"Those are clouds," I told my fellow passenger, "would you like to sit by the window?"

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