New Orleans

I'm back on the ground again after a quick trip to the Big Easy. It was a last minute deal that came up last week:

Cade: "I need you to get a ticket to New Orleans for Sunday afternoon returning Monday afternoon….Can you do that?"

Michael: "Do you still sign my checks?"

Anyway, we were supposed to leave on Sunday to have dinner with a prospective client Sunday evening in Covington, LA. So, both I and our office manager looked for flights on Sunday and the best we could both come up with was an American Airlines flight on Sunday morning at 9am arriving at 10:30am. Since I didn't have to meet anyone until 8pm for dinner, I wasn't really keen on that option, but we saw no alternatives.

Cade was also flying out with me, and we reported our findings to him in preparation for booking the flight. About thirty minutes later, he sent me confirmation that I was booked, with him, on a flight leaving DFW at 2:10pm. Hmmm….. Maybe I missed something the first time around. I searched American's web site again and it again only returned the 9am flight. When I searched for the specific flight number that I was booked on, it returned that flight, though. Perhaps I was booked on a flight reserved only for those with an insane amount of airline miles. Regardless, I was happy that I would still be able to attend church and teach my 4^th-5^th class before we left.

After we arrived at the airport, they announced that our flight was delayed until 2:40pm. Apparently, the plane that we were going to fly on was being taken out of service. I wasn't too thrilled about having to wait longer at the airport, but I was glad that they took the plane out of service before I got on it. Next, though, they announced that the plane that we would be flying on was scheduled to arrive on time at 2:15pm. Let's do some quick airport math here: assuming that the plane is actually at the gate at 2:15pm, how many workers does it take to get everyone de-planed, clean up after them, remove the luggage, load the new luggage, give the crew a chance to catch their breath, load new passengers, get all carry-on items crammed into the bins, pull away from the gate, taxi, wait in line for a runway, and get in the air. I don't have a calculator handy, but I can promise you it's longer than 25 minutes. As it turned out, we were getting on the plane at 2:40pm which was much faster than I expected.

Once in New Orleans, we had to trek to the one exit from the airport through the longest airline terminal with no moving sidewalk known to exist. I think there might be a mathematical equation where bean counters figure the maximum number of steps that a passenger carrying luggage is willing to go before they are driven stark raving mad and start slaughtering innocents with the wire hangers from their garment bag. At the New Orleans airport, it would only take one more step for them to have crossed the line and installed a moving sidewalk or tram system.

All we were looking forward to was resting for a second at the rental car counter before the final dash to our car and the long drive over the Pontchartrain. Hiking through the airport, we identified elusive, small signs directing us forward toward the rental car counters until we finally arrived at the counter itself. Wouldn't you know it? The sign at the counter says, "Go back three spaces." What kind of messed up game is this anyway? Really, it says that we need to go back the way we came, ignore the posted signs, go a different direction, and catch a shuttle bus. Okay.

Finally on the shuttle bus, we were able to rest our legs for a while and catch our breath. Who says travelling messes with your ability to get a good workout? Anyway, the driver kindly asked if we needed directions to wherever we were headed, and Cade said that we did. Immediately, she started spouting off directions in a quick, rapid fire manner. Hands were flying, her head was turning, it was like a history lesson, foreign language class, interrogation, and modern dance recital all rolled into one. And the best part is that we were on a mostly empty bus that rattled every time we hit a bump in the road.

For those that are not familiar with the state of Louisiana, let me assure you that there are more bumps than smooth spots on the roads in my home state. Basically, what I heard of the directions was: "hoo boy! Nawh, you gonna go 'bout……..miles, and you gonna turn………and then you gonna head on through……stop lights. Den you gonna look to your……and you see a big ol'……Den after dat, you gonna go 'nother……miles and you gonna turn…….at the …….. red light. Got it??"

Cade looked at me and said, "I hope you got that, 'cause I'm getting old, and I could barely tell she was talking."

After we arrived, and the bus was quiet, I looked her right in the eye and got the directions again. We were set.

Now, have you ever driven or ridden across the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway? It's actually two bridges that run parallel (one northbound and one southbound) and they are each about 24 miles long across Lake Pontchartrain. It's reportedly the longest bridge in the world, and there is a section in the center from which you literally cannot see land at all. It's a neat deal, but it's also stressful to drive. You know that it's not really any different than any other road, but being completely surrounded by water for so long can mess with your head, so you're nothing but excited to see land at the other end.

Once on the other side, we drove right past the hotel. Finally, we stopped to ask directions at a service station, and the girl behind the counter told me that she wasn't sure there was a Courtyard by Marriott in Covington. Great! The customer behind me, though, said that he knew where it was, and he was surprised that we missed the big sign. Well, we followed his directions back and found that "big sign." It stood about 3 feet off the ground, behind a row of hedges, behind two trees, and 30 feet off the road. I can't believe we missed it either.

Now, before we left, I asked Cade what kind of attire to bring. At the time he was wearing a polo shirt and some khaki pants, and he said that he would probably wear something like that to dinner on Sunday night and then a suit and tie to the meeting Monday morning. I decided to go a step further and wear a long-sleeve dress shirt to dinner Sunday night and a suit and tie to the meeting Monday morning. You can imagine my surprise when Cade arrived in the lobby of the hotel as we waited to go to dinner wearing a suit and no tie. Crap! I was under-dressed compared to him, but maybe the guys we were meeting had dressed more casually. Nope. Both of the guys we were meeting were wearing sport coats, Cade was in a coat, and our other salesperson was in a coat. I'm the only guy at dinner who's simply wearing a dress shirt. I made light of the situation claiming that since I work in IT, I can play the socially inept nerd card and get away with being a little underdressed. They laughed and we had a great dinner.

We ate at Copelands and had a great visit. Our waitress, on the other hand, was having a bit of a rough night. She had a very difficult table of about 12 that were apparently visiting from Israel. She kept coming over to our table, apologizing for having to spend so much time with them, and telling us what was going on. She said that they were grilling her over the details of how the food was prepared, to which she said she replied, "I prepare by punching some buttons on that computer screen over there and then a few minutes later food comes out that little window over there and I bring it to your table." I'm guessing that they didn't like that response because they next asked to "yell" at the manager. Yes, she said that they literally said "yell."

Later, as we were getting ready to order desserts, Cade asked what was the absolute best thing on the dessert menu:

Server: "Bananas Foster Cheesecake."

Cade: "Great! I'll have that."

Server: "Well…..we don't have Bananas Foster right now."

Cade: "Okay. Then I'll have the Bananas Cream right below it."

Server: "Well….See….The reason that we don't have Bananas Foster is that we don't have any bananas."

Cade: "Alright. I guess I'll just have bread pudding."

She was a little spicy, but she was funny. Poor thing, though, after she brought our desserts and we noticed that her problem table had been cleared, we asked how it all turned out. She started crying right there on the spot. Apparently they had left her absolutely nothing for all the work she had put into trying to help them enjoy their meal. Jerks! We left a bit extra on our tip to try and make up for it, but I'm sure it wasn't quite the same to her as if they had left something.

The next morning, our meetings went really well. So well, in fact, that Cade and I had to move our return back to a later flight. After we finished up there, we started the drive back to New Orleans and back across the Pontchartrain Causeway. On the southbound side, we noticed something different, though: a toll booth. You can drive north across the lake for free, but you have to pay to drive south. It's not too bad of a price: $3.00. Try driving 24 miles on the Dallas Tollway, and I promise you'll spend a lot more than $3.00, but why do they only charge to go south?

We asked, and the lady in the tollbooth informed us that they used to charge both directions. Once they realized, though, that basically everyone who went north across the lake had to turn around drive back south across the lake, they just upped the toll on the southbound side and started collecting the toll only on that end. I wonder if that has helped the residents on the north side of the lake feel any better about where they live: everyone that comes here and takes a look around just wants to get back across that lake to New Orleans.

Anyway, we made it back to the airport without incident, had some lunch, and our plane left on time. Amazingly. Of course, we did still have to contend with a power hungry, intercom junkie of a flight attendant. I kid you not, out of the entire hour and a half flight, she was probably on the intercom for an hour of the time. She even, at one point, told people to tap their neighbor on the shoulder if they had headphones on so that they wouldn't miss out on her important announcements. And when we landed, she asked everyone to refrain from using their cellphones, even though American allows it while you're taxiing, because it would be rude for passengers to try and talk while she's doing announcements. When we finally got to the gate, we still couldn't get off the plane because she was still yakking on the intercom telling us all to come back and fly with her again. Not if I can help it!

All-in-all, it was a good trip, and in a crazy twist of fate, we actually managed to leave DFW from gate C27 and arrive back at DFW at gate C27. Now, if you haven't flown much, that might not surprise you, but at DFW, you consider yourself lucky to land at the same terminal you left from; it's absolutely unheard of to arrive at the same gate you left from.