Po
Boy Views
By
Phil
LaMancusa
Nate
the Great
Or
Missed
by That Much
Fred: (to the porch) “Hey guys, y’all ready for the storm?”
Ned: “We got cigarettes and beer. We okay”
Ted: “I’m just gonna get drunk, pass out, wake up
tomorrow and it’ll be over.”
Ned: (to Ted) “Kinda like your first marriage, huh?”
What can you say about a hurricane to hit New Orleans
that simply didn’t? You can’t say that we weren’t adequately alarmed or under
prepared as a city; Jeez, we did everything but erect a dome over our heads and
lay in the MREs. A state of emergency was declared; National Guard were
stationed; shelters were opened for the homeless; it was a full moon on Thursday
and the tides were rising, time to break out the staple gun and trash bags!
The rumors of impending doom started around Wednesday and
by Friday we were all in a tizzy. I got caught up in the spirit and shopped on
Thursday and Friday as if for a siege; Rouse’s, Winn Dixie and Whole Foods
parking looked like used car lots and the stores were crowded as they are at
Thanksgiving time.
The folk shopping at Rouse’s had big bags of dog food,
bottled water, Abita Amber, diapers, Jameson and an army of deli prepared
foods. The lady in front of me had pre-baked bread, sliced turkey, cheese,
Styrofoam plates, gallons of Arizona and a family size jar of Blue Plate
Mayonnaise. Pandemonium reigned with cash registers ringing in the buckaroos,
two liter cold drinks, ice, charcoal briquettes, movies renting at the kiosk.
At
Winn Dixie, Budweiser was the king of beers, batteries, sliced bread, canned
Dinty Moore, Kraft Mac n Cheese, cigarettes, and chips, with checkers checking
I.D.s for booze sales; cases of water, cat litter and soft drinks jammed into
overflowing carts. One man’s cart had dozens and dozens of canned vegetables,
spaghetti, sauce and canned imitation parmesan cheese (plus two half gallons of
cheap bourbon). Cars circled the parking area like buzzards looking for spaces
and places, shopping carts littered the lot like abandoned life jackets and
there was the smell of fear in the air; men gunned their motors, women looked
apprehensive and kids cried out for attention.
Whole
Foods had a run on Kombucha, soy products and La Croix flavored sparkling
water. Spring water by the cases were stocked and sold, pizza dough, ciabatta
bread, rennet free cheese, mock chicken and black bean burgers quickly
evaporated. The Millennials stripped shelves and stood in line as if waiting
for lifeboats. The entire hot bar was packaged and taken out, sushi swam into
kids shopping baskets, IPAs shouldered by man buns and tattooed ladies bagged
trail mix from the bulk section. I saw a man getting two cases of their $2.99 Merlot;
it was a non GMO donnybrook of epic proportions.
We
closed the shop early; there hadn’t been a customer in two days; Jonestown in
the retail arena. We moved plants inside, stacked sandbags, left extra food for
the feral cats and set the alarm on ‘prison break’ mode. We charged our cell
phones, took down wind chimes, duct taped trash cans, froze odd containers of
water and filled buckets for cooking and flushing; caught up unprepared, we
improvised flash and candle lights, cooked enough for an army, parked the car
on higher ground and watched the weather channel like storm ghouls; it looks
like it’s headed right up our assets, to hell with the rent, let’s just hope we
all get out of this alive.
The
mayor comes on the Teevee and tells everyone to get off the streets, in turn
twelve city officials, from levee board, Corps of Engineers, police and State
troopers assure us that we are prepared, as a city, to ride this one out, “been prepared since before this thing had a
name”. Sewerage and Water board officials boast of our repaired pumps and
drainage. I’m mesmerized by a woman mirroring the dialog in sign language and
wonder if she’s really signing or faking. All channels are riveted on the
catastrophe to come which will turn out to be a hurrah that never came. Schools
were let out early, festivals were cancelled, dinner reservations were revoked and
the Treme Center closed the swimming pool. Hizzonah imposes a curfew that is almost
immediately rescinded due to the public’s lack of interest and participation.
We
wait on the porch with our neighbor Judy; we’re prepared, we have liquids, solids,
hammer, nails and the Sunday newspapers that were printed early because of the
impending storm. Nothing happens. Seven, eight, nine o’clock; not a breeze in
the eaves; that early afternoon squall was
not a harbinger of things to come. The streets are quiet with my neighbor
Gallivan (and his dogs) over at his girlfriend’s house to ride it out and
others on our street hunkered down. There’s a quiet hurricane party across the
street and hardly any traffic to speak of.
By
this time, I’m half lit, and back in television land even Margaret Orr has left
the building, leaving the second string to mop up. I pop another PBR and switch
to the Great British Baking Show. I feel incomplete, left at the altar; I
understand the anguish of the deflated soufflé at the competition, my glace has
lost its shine, and my mille-feuille has mostly fallen.
In
the morning, naturally, it’s a beautiful day and life goes on as if nothing
happened, which is exactly the case.
Except, I take myself aside and remind myself in no uncertain terms that I
need to be grateful that we dodged that bullet while others have not been so
lucky; there’s fires out west and earthquakes and other hurricanes that have
really f**ked with people’s lives and here I am getting out of bed looking
forward to my coffee and New York Times. Blessed be that we were spared; now
let’s see how we can help others less fortunate.
