Bastard Stories and other Tales

All things considered (Little sappy something for the nerds): by Kamah

admin — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 02:57:48 +0000

I look for the one with the oxygen saturated liquid
To pass the fluid generously into the wanting
I need the gas exchange
But only one holds the sweet nectar I require
And when he’s not around I begin to suffocate
He is what makes my heart pump and pound…
He is what makes the air force into my lungs…
He is what my body thrives on

All things considered, without his presence…
I can not function.

Paranoia: by imnogeek

admin — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 02:56:17 +0000

Wrote this a few years ago now…

Paranoia

My bottom’s too big, my hair doesn’t grow,
I wear pretty hats - so my dandruff won’t show,
I tend to get pimples and big yellow zits,
I have a small chest (well you can’t call them tits!)

My eyebrows are bushy, my mouth is too wide,
my legs are too bandy (if you look from the side).
My bikini line’s gone, (sorry to be brash)…
but each time I shave - I come out in a rash.

I bite at my nails, my complexion’s not clear,
the hairs on my legs - you could cut them with shears.
At the end of the day, I look quite a sight,
so hurry up dear and turn out the light.

Now you can’t see me, wrapped up in my sheet,
Oh would you believe it, I’ve got smelly feet!

Conflicted with Authority: by Harbinger

admin — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 02:54:19 +0000

Taken from my blog. Not edited or proof-read, and more of a rant, but I figured this forum needed some attention.

Perhaps it’s simply the fervor of youth, but I feel like some ER Physicians give up a bit too easily. As I’m on the code team, I see alot of things go down. Yesterday we had this woman bradied into respiratory failure and ventricular tachycardia while she was undergoing and endoscopy procedure. I knew she has a tension pneumothorax, but other than that no details. She was also a dwarf/midget, so I’m guessing she was just in a generally unhealthy disposition.

It was actually a rather small team as 4 of the 8 people were doctors. After we had worked her back towards a normal sinus rhythm, none of the particpating doctors could intubate her. Nobody could establish her airway at all, they just kept aspirating her stomach. Granted, she was a midget with odd anatomy (almost no neck) and she had a tension pneumothorax causing her treachea to arc, but seasoned ER Doctors should be able to intubate someone in their sleep. None of them could simply do it. None of them used cricoid pressure, and they even had a SCOPE, yet she couldn’t be intubated.

After 10 minutes without oxygen, they should have done an emergency Cricoidostomy, which they only mentioned after 30 minutes had passed. In the meantime, he kept saying how there was nothing they could really do for her. I asked why they simply didn’t use a pediatric combi-tube, and one of the nurses replied that they couldn’t because of her strange anatomy. This made absolutely no sense to me, but I could tell there was going to be no arguing. At that point I talked with the primary care provider (MD) about inducing hypothermia and using K+ channel blockers to reduce the oxygen demand while he tried to establish her airway. He liked the idea, and we implemented it.

So we’re slightly over half-an-hour into the code and still have no airway. Her heart occassionally slow to a stop and has to be brought back, but is easily done so with CPR. Despite the lack of oxygen, she’s giving one hell of a fight. I was so proud of her. Finally, when it came time to use the cricoidostomy as final resort, the ER MD said that it would be too difficult for him to do and that we’d need to call a trauma surgeon to perform it. That’s utter bullshit. I could have performed the “cric” but don’t have the scope to legally/medically do so. I was getting irritated inside during this code.

So 45 minutes later she’s having trouble keeping her heart going but she’s still kicking. The husband arrives on the scene and one of the doctors convinces him to let her go after he refused twice because even though she was alive, she’d probably be brain dead. The worst part was that the consent to cease was given right as the trauma MD walked into the room. I had to contain my irritation. Even though there was a probability of serious damage, she was being so resiliant that a near-full recovery could have been possible. At the very least, she could have been taken off life-support at a later date if that were so. To tell the truth, if he had just established an airway, she would have only needed supportive care. She should have fucking made it, but that ER doctor just reeked of a quiter to me. She was on the ropes, but still very much alive if you ask me.

I felt so awful leaving that code. Not simply because life was lost, or that I felt it was needlessly so, but her husband was a double-amputee (legs) and thus in a wheel-chair. Typically with disabled couples, eachother is all they have. Now this poor guy who probably has had a rough life as it is will forever be alone because the ER Doctor was a fucking quitter, the Endoscopist was incompitent, and the primary care was too timid to make any real decisions. I’m still amazed that he responded to my suggestion.

Way back when I took my first medical lisensure class (EMT-B), my instructor (a seasoned Paramedic) told us that the only way to move past losing patients is if you did everything within your power and ability to save them. I don’t think this was done, but with so many doctors around I wasn’t really in a position to say much. In the hospital, doctors are law–even when they quit. This is the third time I’ve seen doctors just not give a shit.

The prestige and title is nice, so is the reliable note-worthy income, but those are merely perks–not the reason you practice medicine. When I’m finally an ER MD, I am not going to quit anybody no matter who they are or why they are there. That is the job, and it’s what you do. At the very least I’ll then have the authority to tell anybody with a different opinnion about that to get the fuck out of my ER.

A Weekend with the Bastard : by dinowuff

admin — Sat, 17 May 2008 06:53:25 +0000

Part 1

Ah more email from corporate H.R. guy…

————————————————————————————————————

RE: Company Weekend Suggestions.

So what does anyone want to do for the company outing this spring? All comments and suggestions will be considered. Please note that at this time hourly employees are not being polled for input.

The executive committee has determined that directors should have the ability alone to determine what is best for moral in their department(s).

Currently Barbra Chunkily has suggested the company rent tent space at Long River Canoes, Camping and RV world in Cedar Springs.

Please get together and decide by C.O.B. Friday.

H.R. Guy whose name I still don’t care to remember.
————————————————————————————————————

So what does that mean?

One: the company is going to spend tons of cash on renting tent and RV space at Long River because Barbra and her husband own that back alley dump and because “Barbie” is the daughter of our Board Chairman.

Two: I will spend the next few weeks restoring emails that never existed and deleting ones that did. Wait- back up, reverse that… You get the picture.

And finally

Three: Lyn is going camping with her kids and my departments newest employees.

Every year these caring and sharing weekend outings – meant to build team/corporate spirit; end up as huge disasters. They are almost always scheduled on a weekend when the majority of our divorced workers have visitation rights. People who spend an alarming amount of time avoiding each other in the work place are suddenly forced to spend every waken hour together for two days. Tempers flair and management gets blamed for not “accomplishing” any of the set objectives – outlined in the “Weekend Guide”. Printed and delivered to everyone’s desk personally by the friendly Human Resource staff, and then immediately transferred to the circle file under the desk.

Most employees cringe at the thought of not being able to miss this “Fun filled weekend of skill building and relaxing”. In fact, my old boss used to pay me $200 for a viable excuse. But I think that my department may just be up to the task and make this an unforgettable weekend for everyone in the company.

On second thought I know this will be the weekend to beat all weekends.

It’s now 2:00 p.m. and time for the department’s weekly meeting. This should be fun. My door opens and in walks Lyn followed by Daryl and his other brother Daryl. I notice that Lyn’s right eye lid is twitching and she has an ever so slight scowl on her face. Lyn takes a seat at the table across from my desk and the two dim wits she hired stumble over each other trying to get the only chair that doesn’t face my desk. The ops and development managers sit on the couch next to the windows.

At this point I should let you know that Lyn is the companies official Systems Administrator. I was a little reprehensive about giving her my old position, but after the wonderful job she did with the auditors last year – hell she deserved the job. And I must say her training as a Bastard (or Bitch) SysAdmin is coming along fairly well. Just a few hiccups in where Lyn thought she was right, but more importantly I was wrong. That’s where the moron twins come in.

Lyn kept requesting interns to help her keep up with her new responsibilities and I kept telling her that she needed to work on her time management skills. So finally I gave in and decided to let Lyn learn all about time management the hard way. I approved two intern positions. One entry level networking and one entry level programmer, both of whom Lyn would hire and manage along with all her other responsibilities.

Now even though the department managers report to Lyn I decreed that the interns Lyn hired would report to her and her alone.

“We’ll thanks everyone for being on time. I have a fairly short agenda today, so let’s start with you Lyn. What has your new team been working on this week?”

“All areas are moving forward with the accounting system upgrade. There was a small glitch with the database last week but development stepped up and addressed the issues. I believe the project is back on schedule”.

Lyn looks at the operations manager who confirms that even though her new developer intern, not only deleted the entire dev system database, and the source database itself, the project was indeed back on schedule.

Looking at the operations manager I inquired if there were any infrastructure problems I needed to be aware of, or anything that may adversely affect the current project or production environment.

I knew that Daryl (the networking intern) had dumped a core switch and had barely escaped the datacenter with his life. Lyn gave the young one the task of reviewing the network switch configurations and ensuring that the corresponding documentation was up to date. Now I don’t know why the operations manager didn’t Kill Lyn for giving the intern a RW account. But hey it’s all about time management.

Anyway, Daryl and his other brother Daryl are staring at the floor, Lyn is holding up fairly well and my other two managers seem to be plotting a mutiny. Now as a director one must be a little savvier when being a total bastard. Plus both my ops and dev guys are top notch. I can’t keep fucking with Lyn at their expense with out some form of repayment.

“O.K.” I say standing up from my desk. “As I’m sure you’ve all heard – planning for the annual company outing is in the works. As usual all employees are expected to attend and overtime is authorized for the event. In other words, you will attend the event”.

I make my way to the door and everyone rises to leave. As I open the door I look at my dev manager and say:

“Except your guys and ops, they need to be on call to monitor the monitors and you two need to be here in town in case I need you to come in. Myself, Lyn and her new interns will attend and represent the IT department”.

Both manager’s smile and nod on the way out. Daryl and Daryl scurry out to wherever they came from and I shut the door before Lyn can leave.

“You were right, I was wrong – I can’t manage all department heads, my responsibilities and those two…”

Before Lyn could say another word I cut her off.

“Not to worry Lynnie, we’re going to have fun with this one. Go tell the other managers that the two interns now report directly to them. And see if we have any of that remote surveillance stuff from the old building in the basement stacks”.

We’ve got some planning to do…

Spectrums of Evil: by Harbinger

admin — Sat, 17 May 2008 06:46:51 +0000

I came across an interesting blog about a fellow villain detailing her particular modus operandi regarding Evil. It got me thinking about my own particular brand, which in turn made me ponder the various classifications of Evil. Mind you, these do not cover petty instances of Evil such a serial killing, petty crimes, or any such mundane thuggery. I’m talking about Evil with scope and sophistication; Evil with intention if you will. I reduced it to four major specturms:

Diametric Morality: Evil for Evil’s Sake, “Pure” Evil
Perhaps the oldest and most classic variant of Evil. Simply born bad with an itch for the malaise that cannot be scratched. In mainstream media, they are often portrayed as the manipulative vampire who gets no greater satisfaction than tempting the doubtful into entropic darkness. This Evil is seductive and subtle and perfers the whisper over the typical howl of madness. While lacking the grandoise plans of other classifications, it is often considered the most Evil because this is a foe of both mind and soul. People with this style will corrupt others just to watch them fall and leave them stranded–or irrevocably dependant. This Evil is an everyday Evil. Well known villains of this type are:

Dracula, or Vampires in General

Satan, or any Demon/Fiend

Misguided Moral Authority: Messiah Complex
This is characterized by an overwhelming desire to change the world for what the individual truely believes is righteous and good. These good intentions are perverted by draconian standards, profound dellusion, and a severe approach where the ends always justifies the means. This is often thought of as the most dangerous form as the fanatacism consuming the individual can instill a profound dedication where other villains may lose fervor. Well known villains of this type are:

“The Operative” from the movie Serenity and series Firefly.

“John Doe” from the movie Seven.

Vengeful and Isolated: Anarchy and the Abyss
Gloomy and foreboding castles high upon looming cliffs set the scene; this is the Evil of pain. Anarchic Evil holds a paradox of being the least desirable yet debatably the most sympathetic. Villains of this variety are often wounded and alone–typically cast out from society because of a phyiscal malformation, mental dysfunction, or generalized sociopathy. Isolation from the world only increases to their eccentricism and can often lead to a very bizarre persona. Sometimes this Evil is confused with the Messiah Complex, but this is a under-sight. Isolated villains do not wish to reform a world they love, rather to destroy a world they don’t fit in. This Evil is consumed by pain, and merely wants an end to any and all guilty parties. Often these villains do not intend to have epic plans, but sometimes wind up that way in their reactionary grievences. Vengeful villiany is often considered the least dangerous as it is the most susseptible to appeal and redemption by truely compassionate individuals. Well known villains of this type are:

Phantom of the Opera

Mr. Freeze

Megalomania: Might Makes Right
Megolomania is where Egotism makes its ultimate display. While goals vary, there is an absolute trend to the genre. “I can and wish, therefore I will”. Some might consider this in truth to be “amoral”, but that is not the case. Selfish desires are all that matter, so Megalomaniacs are without doubt–Evil. This can cause them to transcend various forms of Evil though possessing certain distinctions to remain unique. A vilian may want to destroy the world, but merely out of sport and expression of power. Likewise, they may want to “save” the world–but out of arrogance and vision instead of altruism. Megalomaniac Evil is often times very flamboyant and concerns itself with status, show, and style to the point at where that might supercede the stated goal. While this could be considered the most dangerous because of the grand scope, it is often the most inoccuous as Megalomaniac villains tend to set unrealistic goals and are fickle. This causes them to be easily countered after their plans become known. The monologue is the silver bullet to any great Megalomaniac villian. Well known villains of this type are:

Dr. Evil

Hugo Drax: One of many various James Bond villains who fit the bill

Me (Naturally)

Personally, I’m a fan of both ‘Pure” Evil and Megalomaniac Evil. This is more of an entertaining thought-out-loud, but I’d like to toss it up in the air. Did I make any gross oversights? Random thoughts?

TAZ Forum :: A Computer, Gaming, and Social Network Community of Friends :: TAZForum :: View topic - Spectrums of Evil

Sure, That’s double time pay, right?

admin — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 00:20:00 +0000

Written by Dinowuff: The Bastard System Administrator

Boss:
“The company has decided to purchase the software reviewed by the steering committee. Will you be around to install it this weekend?”

SysAdmin:
“Sure, That’s double time pay, right?”

Boss:
“Nope, you’re on salary, be in by 7 and call my cell phone when you’re done, I’ll be up north fishing, but should have a signal.”

Monday Morning New system is completely hosed (installed over the weekend without reading the manual and half drunk) and no network resources are available to the lusers.

Boss:
“What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

SysAdmin:
“It seems that the steering committee failed to realize that the new “Enterprise software” they purchased imbeads itself into Active Directory by trying to find and reallocate the nth Fibonacci number.”

Boss:
“The what?”

SysAdmin:
*sighs*
“Look, you have a degree in computer science, It’s basic 101 stuff. n is zero or one, so when returning one; compute fibonacci(n-1) and fibonacci(n-2) Then return the sum of those two numbers. Now this requires O(fibonacci(n)) time; which is equivalent to exponential time, that is, O(2n).”

Boss:
“Yes I know that, why doesn’t the network work?”

SysAdmin:
“Because Active Directory maintains internal network time with a process constantly using n, or more to the point O(2n). So you see until I can uninstall that shit “The Committee” bought, the network will be un accessible.”

Working on an email

admin — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 00:18:43 +0000

Written by Dinowuff: The Bastard System Administrator

I have been thinking about continuing the sagas. Here are some real world responses I have used.

Please enjoy.

luser:
“I was working on an email for two hours and my machine crashed, can you recover it for me?”

Sysadmin:
“No. The email program uses a Dynamic programming algorithm.”

luser:
“What’s that?”

SysAdmin:
“In this case the dynamic programming algorithm remembers past emails written and uses those to predict when you need to quit writing a fucking novel and get on with your work”. By spending way too much time in an application designed to communicate “QUICKLY”, You extended the “optimal substructure” and “overlapped the subEmailQueue”.

What inspires me to write

admin — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 19:14:15 +0000

Written by l3lacklce

Ok, after being asked in a different thread what inspires me to write, I decided it’d be a cool thing to ask everyone - so what inspires you to write, create art, or make music?

I write because I must. At this point I’m quite addicted to the printed word, and any author will tell you it’s a much harder habit to break than heroine. If I’m away from the keyboard for even a few days I become quite unbearable, restorting to cringing in corners and growling at anyone who passes, and forcing them to poke small tidbits of food at me with a long stick.

But in the early days it wasn’t that way… Please take note that the next won’t be too modest, but hey, asking me what inspires me is like asking me to blow my own horn…

I started writing in high school because I hated where I was, and it was a creative outlet for what I was going through. Imagine, if you will, an above-average intelligence person reasonably well-educated (reading on the college level at age 6, doing higher maths at age 7) being forced to attend school in a realm of moronic rednecks where the most academically challenging course was Agriculture. I abhored my school. I abhored my classmates. 25 years after the fact I have yet to attend a single class reunion and probably won’t, and I don’t openly associate with anyone I went to school with. Needless to say I was quite depressed at the time, and through the guidance and gentle encouragements of a dear friend (the school nurse, in fact, whom I call to this day ‘Mom’ for that was who she was to me) I began to write poems and short prose. This expanded later into short stories, and hasn’t quite extended to becoming a novel yet but that’s in the works…

What inspires me? Life. Things I feel passionate about. Things I see occurring that might not be noticed by others but need voicing. I dearly love to paint pictures with words and have always had a verbose bent (can’t you tell by reading this?). Most of all, things that generate feelings within me and my attempt to describe those feelings in my feeble English drives my inspiration.

Now, I’ve shown ya mine, y’all show me yours

So we’re picked up at the hotel

admin — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 19:10:32 +0000

Written by l3lacklce

So we’re picked up at the hotel at noon by the lead attorney on our case and taken to the firm’s office in New Orleans. We’re briefed on what’s to take place in the mediation the next day, returned to the hotel, and turned loose to explore and partake of the saturnalia that is the French Quarter.

We find a nice place to eat dinner. It’s called Oceana and is more a bar with restaurant seating than a restaurant. The atmosphere is considerably quieter than the other places we’ve passed on Bourbon however, so it’s a welcome thing. Neither Mrs|ce or I enjoy having music blared at us while attempting to eat. After an appetizer of oysters on the half shell, she has the fried oyster dinner, I have the jambalaya, she drinking a margarita, me an ice-cold lager. Total cost, 52 bucks. The quarter is a blast, but it ain’t cheap. Remember this is the one place I’ve found in the world where you’ll pay 4 bucks for a 20oz dr pepper (about a 1 1/4 pints brits) and a dollar for a 40oz beer (about 2 1/2 pints brits). We enter the fray looking to see how other parts of the quarter fared. Clusters of people roam the quarter and it feels like a good party during off season - business is a bit slow in most places, but still at a decent clip. These crowds will party all night. Mrs |ce and I see a few courtyards which were damaged, wander over through Pirate’s Alley into Jackson Square (St. Louis Cathedral is still pristine and beautiful, showing only a few roof tiles damaged) and see the closed down shops mentioned earlier.

Mediation goes well. I won’t discuss details, but I’m somewhat satisfied with the outcome. Started at 10am, ended after 5pm. What struck me most though was what we saw during the breaks in the action out on the top level of the parking garage (aka the smoking lounge - all open air). Mrs |ce and I both looked over 2 seas of blue, one beautiful, one shocking. The beautiful sea was Lake Pontchartrain which, after having such filth as was pumped back into it from the flooded sections of New Orleans, still looks pristine. Mother Nature seems to own a wonderful water purification process. The other sea, the shocking sea, were the roofs of the houses in the surrounding area, covered with blue FEMA tarps in lieu of actual roofs. There were literally hundreds. At least a dozen roofing crews were seen working steadily, but after 6 months of hard work their progress was barely notable. In Metarie at least, the devastation was incredible.

Now we were on the 6th floor of a skyscraper. There’s 2 others in the immediate vicinity. Plywood sheets are everywhere on the towers, and some windows still sit open to the weather with neither glass nor boards blocking out the elements. Our tower is being repaired, with only the first and 6th floors open for business, and those only recently. Window crews ride scaffolds up and down all three towers, and a drywall crew monopolizes the first floor.

5pm comes and goes, a settlement is reached, and two of my attorneys drive Trish and I back to the hotel. On the way we go through Metarie instead of taking the I10 back - and cross the 17th street canal. We drive right through a zone that still sits empty and desolate due to flooding. Million dollar homes line the roads, all covered with red and white X’s marking whether or not anyone alive or dead was found inside, and also marked with the dates they were found - these marks are near the roof of these 5 and 6 story homes. Quick peeks through holes where windows used to be show collapsed floors, molded and melted sheet rock, and sheer desecration of these once noble edifices. The smell in the air is of death and decay, and mold. This is the most shocking scene Mrs |ce and I see our entire stay. We’re told that 80 percent of the city is as bad or worse than this zone.

Putting the shock behind us, the evening brought a celebration dinner at a steak house on Bourbon called Embers. This is one of the older restaurants in the quarter, dating back to the early 1900’s. More raw oysters for appetizers, cold beer and mixed drinks, a very thick steak for me and fresh grilled gulf fish for Mrs |ce. Tab: $78 but damn it was good. Several more rounds of drinks followed at various bars along Bourbon, and we went to bed drunk and happy.

Our last morning arrives, we pack and load the car, check out of the hotel, meet with our lead attorney one last time to get a nice fat ’starter check’ to tide us over until the settlement arrives, eat a wonderful breakfast of beignets and cafe au lait at Jazz Memorial Park (tab $6 bucks, beignets are cheap and plentiful, as is coffee). Planning to get a bit more sightseeing in we hit the streets yet again. We journey one last time to Jackson Square, buy some pralines as presents for our respective moms, and hop a horse-drawn carriage tour of the Garden District. This is the rich section of old New Orleans, with mansions owned by Nick Cage, Anne Rice, Archie Manning, and many other celebs. It’s required by city ordinance that all houses in the Garden District must appear from the outside to be precisely as they were when they were built, and special contractors must be hired to perform any restoration which takes place. Needless to say this is quite pricey to those who live there, and a wonderful tour to take. Katrina wasn’t merciful on the Garden District, although she didn’t hit it as hard as she did Metarie or Slidell. Repairs were being effected at many of the homes, and others sat waiting on contractors to come available, but the district still had beauty to look upon, and friendly, hopeful faces of residents who greeted us with smiles and waves as we passed. After the tour we returned to our hotel, got our car and came home.

All in all the devastation of New Orleans is still there. It’s still very severe. The outlook, however, is hopeful, as is the attitude of the residents. They hate Ray Nagin, most especially of late because of his ‘chocolate city’ comments on MLK day (willy nagin and the chocolate city t-shirts are popping up everywhere (think willy wonka)), as bad or worse than they hate their governor, and fema. Plan on some big changes come election day. They need an economic shot in the arm to spur more reconstruction, but otherwise they’re trudging onward. The merchants and locals are all looking to this coming Mardi Gras for this shot in the arm, and after discussing it with the hotel staff, and staff of other hotels we met, it’s a good bet they won’t be disappointed - the hotels are all booked solid, and large corporations are (for the first time) helping sponsor the week long party. So this to you travel types - hit mardi gras this year if you can. They need all the $ help they can get. Watch New Orleans rise like the Phoenix - all proceeds go to help Katrina victims. This year’s theme will be “Phoenix” - rising from the ashes to be reborn.

Ok, nuff said - I’ve been over an hour typing this and I’m exhausted.

CYAS!

I guess the way to tell this tale is from the beginning

admin — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 19:09:14 +0000

Written by l3lacklce

It’s now 11:11pm on Thursday. I’ve been home for about 30 minutes now and got the car (and all the souveniers) unloaded - the drive took a bit longer than expected since we stopped for (yet another) celebratory dinner en route to the house.

I guess the way to tell this tale is from the beginning, so I’ll tell you of our entire trip to New Orleans even though this thread is strictly to inform you about how the great lady looks 6 months after her devastation. We left home at 9:30pm Monday night since I couldn’t get to sleep early. Our original plan was to leave about 2am Tuesday. The drive down was uneventful, and eerily quiet - no traffic to speak of the entire way from Shreveport to Lafayette down I49. We cut to I10 and crossed Baton Rouge, and began our turn southward to the Big Easy. It’s now 2am and we’re an hour away from our destination. There is zero traffic.

Now for those of you who’ve been to New Orleans you’ll understand the signifigance of the traffic situation. For those who have not, I’ll expand a bit - New Orleans pre-Katrina was a 24/7 traffic nightmare, with near bumper to bumper traffic doing 80 miles an hour down the highway from the I55/I10 interchange all the way to the French Quarter. To reiterate, the time mattered not, the traffic was tough.

The near deserted highway stretched in front of us and we cruised comfortably and easily, taking in as many sights as the 3:00am darkness would allow. We passed Metarie, a city absorbed by New Orleans and site of the flood from the breach in the 17th street canal levee. We saw little damage - a few missing roofs, a collapsed building or two, a damaged sign here and there. We pressed onward and got to our exit and entered the French Quarter.

Now the French Quarter got a little water but wasn’t flooded too badly. The damage to the buildings was mostly from looting, and several large business were closed, with sheets of plywood covering their entire store fronts. Tower Records, Virgin Megastore, Saks Fifth Avenue, Ripley’s Believe it or Not, and even Hooters were boarded up just to name a few.

We crossed Canal street and entered Bourbon (our hotel, the Royal Sonesta, is on Bourbon street at Rue Bienville) and found our hotel. The valet parks us, and we journey to the desk clerk who informs us it’s still too early to check in, and that she can have a room available by 7:30.

No problem at all. The lights and all night parties on Bourbon are still in full swing - most businesses there don’t close until 6am, then reopen at 7. We enter afoot into the quarter.

The first thing we notice is that the crowds, although still around, are vastly thinner. Tourism has obviously dropped severely in the quarter. The second thing we see is all the Help Wanted signs in virtually every window. We find a nice Irish pub and enter for a beer (and coffee for Mrs|ce). The only people there are us, the bartender, the off-duty titty dancer, the bar owner, and another club owner from elsewhere in the quarter. They all join in the conversation (except the dancer who’s on her way out the door) and I’m told that since there’s such a housing shortage in New Orleans, there’s not enough people to fill the jobs. The club owner tells me that he’s paying some bum off the street 9 bucks an hour to stand out front and wave a flag (sandwich man!) to invite people inside. He also tells me that the pay is through the roof - his bartender’s making over 30 dollars per hour (nearly 15 quid/hr to you brit types). We’re then informed that applications are normally not necessary other than to get a person’s personal info - name, address, phone number, social for taxes, and no references or job histories are being checked - it’s an employee’s market and they’re paying top dollar for warm bodies. If you know anyone who needs a job and can either find living space or provide their own, there’s gold in New Orleans right now.

We get back to the hotel at 6, intending to get a bit of breakfast in the unGodly overpriced hotel restaurant while waiting on our room. We’re informed by the clerk that she’d called in someone early and had a room ready for us, but that they didn’t have a reservation. Oops.

We have her call my attorney, who’s made reservations and prepaid the entire stay. He lives 45 minutes away and isn’t pleased. We take seats in the lobby and listen as the drama unfolds. The hotel manager is paged.
15 minutes later we’re given a very sincere apology for the loss of our reservation, told that Hotels.com has taken care of the problem, and as an apology from them would we like a room with a nice balcony overlooking Bourbon street at no additional charge (those rooms rent at $520 a night in the off season btw, and over $2500 a night during Mardi Gras - the room the attorney had for us was an inside room at $129) Needless to say the balcony room was wonderful and a good time was had by all. The concierge escorts us to our room, which has been pre-turned down by housekeeping, and delivers our luggage in fine form, and is duly tipped and dismissed. After exploring our wonderful corner room with balcony (corner of Bienville and Bourbon!, balcony’s 8feet wide! room has a mini-bar!!!) we wearily turn to our bed. It’s 7:30 am. We meet with our attorney at noon.