Jonathan, our friend who tends bar at Oz, finished up work around 9:30 and met us outside. Even at that relatively early hour of the evening (in Gay Standard Time, anyway) the parties were dying down quickly… They were even bringing out materials to board up windows, and these are the bars that stayed open the entire time during Katrina in ’05! People are taking this shit seriously.
It’s not too surprising – Mayor Nagin is doing a good job of getting in front of cameras and scaring the hell out of folks. He actually called Gustav “the mother of all storms” in a press conference. Jackass.
Anyway, after we met up with Jonathan we stopped off so he and his other peeps could get a bite to eat. (Sal and I had snuck off for a Cajun dinner an hour before, but we came to keep them company) Sitting in an empty lil’ pizza joint, we somberly watched the news and learned about the progress of the evacuations, including the crazy gridlock on the Interstates. It reminded me of the madness during re summer of ’04, when I-95 and the Turnpike were virtual parking lots.
I ramble when I’m tired, don’t I?
Back at Jonathan’s, we helped him tear up garbage bags and tape them up over the windows, in the hopes of limiting how much water can get into the living room. Probably won’t do much good, but I think he just wanted to do SOMETHING. He was clearly anxious about the storm, and about whether he’d have a home to return to. When you’re feeling helpless, sometimes even token efforts help you reclaim some sense of control over your own destiny.
We sat around the living room for awhile, on furniture moved to the far end of the room (away from the windows, that is) and chatted aimlessly. I got the impression we were killing time, avoiding the trip to the airport. We finally gave in and came up here around 1:30am, and settled in for a few hours before the ticket counters opened.
It’s now a little after 4:00, and they’ve finally started opening up for bidness. I’m standing in a long line, waiting to print out our boarding passes, since I didn’t think to exploit Jonathan’s printer when I had the chance. There are still dozens of people sleeping soundly, even with all of the lights and sounds around them. I secretly hate them for possessing that ability — I’m too curious and easily distracted to be capable of such. So instead, I stand here listening to Spring Awakening, keeping watch on Sal and our bags across the room.
The line moves in spurts, and in between I’m people-watching. There’s an odd collection of different types of people here — you’ve got the gays that stuck it out at Southern Decadence until forced to leave, the football fans here sportin’ the t-shirts and jerseys of their favored teams, the families that are here randomly… There’s a single mom in front of me with two small children, and they’re tired and cranky, crying and refusing to move a few feet at a time every couple of minutes.
I understand how they feel.
