New Orleans: Home of Pirates, Drunks, and Whores

This June marks the 15 year anniversary of a trip I took to New Orleans with my friends Rob and Dell. It was a trip we still talk about today. Our mission on this trip was simple. It wasn’t to see the sights. It wasn’t to taste the fine cuisine of the bayou. It wasn’t to meet women. No, the whole goal was to get as drunk as we could. Each one of us succeeded. We were there three nights and each one of us had a moment. The first night, Dell got the drunkest. The second night was my turn and the last night Robbie made an appearance.

In preparation for our journey we felt we had to get in shape. Now when most people decide they have to get in shape, they usually change their diet or join a gym. Our definition of getting in shape meant we needed to build up our tolerance to alcohol. This is kind of the genesis for the 79th street march.

If it was Friday night and nothing was going on, we just went on a march. If it was a Saturday and we didn’t have plans we went on a march. We drank during the week. For me personally it was a strange time. I had broken up with Jenny and was in a period of adjustment. Drinking nightly became the norm. I was hanging out at the infamous Chris and Stacey apartment in Worth almost every night. You could make the argument I was a functional alcoholic. Or you could make the argument I was 24 and getting some things out of my system.

Anyway, a trip to New Orleans was something Rob, Dell and I had been talking about for awhile. Then one day, we just decided to quit procrastinating and just book the damn thing. Why we picked June, I have no idea. Probably because it was cheap and at that time we weren’t yet making the big bucks we are today.

As part of our training, we would go on a 79th street march and be sober as birds by the time it was over. Meanwhile, many non-seasoned friends that would join us would be knock down, sloppy drunk. Our friend Tony made it to the Rib House where bourbon, a scotch and a beer knocked him out. A co-worker Rick made it to Durbin’s but was so drunk he basically begged us to take him back to Dell’s house so, he could vomit the night away. The three of us, could have passed a field sobriety check.

By the time we got on that plane headed for Louisiana, we felt we were ready. Dell and I worked a half day on Friday and caught an afternoon flight. We wound up staying at a Days Inn about a block off Bourbon Street. We checked in and somehow sweet talked our way into a suite that had a living room area and a fold out couch. On the way down we stopped at a Walgreens and bought a bottle of their generic brand of Pepto Bismol called Soothie. In three days we would go through three bottles of Soothie combined.

Our first night Dell and I wanted to play the slow and steady approach. We figured we had all weekend to get lubricated so, we didn’t want to shoot our load in the first night. We somehow at some point wound up at the House of Blues. There we were lucky enough to catch The Holmes Brothers. A couple of old school blues musicians who could really play. We were having a good old time knocking back some drinks and grooving to the music. While we were enjoying the Holmes Brothers as the night wore on we didn’t really seem to notice that the later it got, the more transvestites seemed to be coming in.

As the Holmes Brothers played their last note, we looked around and realized we were pretty much the only people in the place not in drag. Hey, I like a good transvestite as much as the next guy, but we didn’t come to the Big Easy for a drag show. So, we headed out for greener pastures. Eventually Dell and I kind of hit the wall as we had worked that day and been up early. Rob however, was ready to go.

Rob had, had the day off. So, as we headed back to our room to crash he challenged the manhood of both Dell and myself for wanting to crash. Dell took the bait, I didn’t. On the walk back to the Days Inn we stopped in a liquor store and purchased some beverages for a nightcap. I was having none of it.

Robbie continued to question my manhood, by suggesting I rub a part of anatomy that being a male I don’t posses. Dell, however in an act of defiance took the bait and went toe to toe with Rob knocking back shots in the room. All the while, I was blissfully asleep saving my energy for the rest of the trip. From what I am told after I crashed Dell got pretty wasted as even though he was the biggest of the three of us, he was also operating on fumes.

The next afternoon we finally woke up. New Orleans in June during the day is oppressive in its heat and humidity. So, we didn’t venture out much while the sun was out. We took the daytime to recover and eat some crappy food. We had to get ready for night two. We all eventually did the three S’s and headed out for the evening.

We were bobbing and weaving our way down Bourbon Street frequenting many different establishments. We eventually found our way into a bar called the Tropical Isle. There we found a drink called a Hand Grenade. The Hand Grenade is still the most potent drink I have ever had. We each got one and were on our way. We were all feeling the effects of that when we got the bright idea to head into the Cat’s Meow, which we later came to realize was a karaoke bar.

Thanks to the Hand Grenade and numerous Hurricanes I had consumed that evening, I was feeling no pain. This is why, I declared that I had to sing. Not sure, why but for some reason I could not be talked out if it. I was going to get up there and belt out a tune. So, I grabbed the catalog and somehow landed on Elvis Presley’s Burning Love. I put my name in and waited. To me the wait was like 2 minutes. But Rob and Dell tell me it was like an hour, all the while we were listening to bad renditions of Grease Lightning and Paradise by the Dashboard Light. As we waited we wound up talking to another group of people by the bar. As it turns out they were from Oak Lawn. All I could think was what a small world.

Finally at long last my name was called and I went up on stage and though I have no memory of it belted out Burning Love. I must have made an impression as later that evening, my singing almost got our asses kicked. We headed out of the Cat’s Meow and somehow we thought it was a good idea to get a hot dog from a street vendor. The street vendor we ran into was actually pretty cool and we wound up bullshitting with him for awhile. Eventually as it became apparent that we were over served (me being the worst) it was decided we should head back to our hotel.

The hot dog vendor warned us, that walking back might be an issue as the street we needed to cross can get hairy at night. He said we might want to take a cab. Did we listen, of course not.
Being the frugal young twentysomethigns that we were we hoofed it back. Rob and I were walking about a step and half in front of Dell for some reason. Out of nowhere some dude came up to me and said, hey you were the guy who sang at the Cat’s Meow. Can I shake your hand? I can’t remember what happened, to cause this guy to become agitated. Either I didn’t shake his hand or I shook it and kept on walking but either way he got pissed. He then started to verbally assault me and Rob. All I could think was well, if he starts some shit, I have Dell behind us to knock this guy out. As Dell would later tell us, he could have gotten in maybe one punch but in his state that would have been it. Luckily, the guy stopped pestering us and we made it back in one piece.

The last day we felt we owed it to ourselves to at least see some parts of the city during the daylight. We made it to some flea market where we bought some tea shirts and other cheap souvenirs. That was pretty much the extent of our sightseeing. The last night in town we again hit Bourbon Street with reckless abandon. We started out the night wanting to knock back another Hand Grenade. I learned my lesson from the night before and only had one. Rob on the other hand, he didn’t stop at just one. Eventually some guy with a guitar started singing an acoustic version of Jack and Diane and we sang along with him and eventually headed out.

We popped our heads into a couple of different bars and knocked back more adult beverages. At some point in the evening we made it upstairs to a bar with a balcony that over looked Bourbon Street. There we met a group of local’s that had just come back from a wedding. One guy looked and was as big as Meat Loaf. I started talking to a girl from the group. She was 100% Cajun she told me. I figured what were the chances of me ever meeting a girl who was 100% Cajun whatever that meant. So, as I was having a decent conversation with her, Rob and Dell at some point wanted to leave. I asked them if it was cool if I stayed behind so, I could keep chatting with this girl I had just met.

They said they would go to another bar and come back for me. From what I am told they found a bar and inside they were showing videos from Mardi Gras. At this establishment Rob just kept getting drunker. Meanwhile, I was having a decent enough conversation with my Cajun friend. Eventually Rob and Dell came back and at some point the guy who looked like Meat Loaf, leaned over the balcony and vomited right over the edge onto Bourbon Street. It was at this point I looked over at Rob and he didn’t look like he was doing very well.

Any slim chance I had with Mrs. Cajun was gone and Dell and I went into friend mode to try and get Rob back to the room alive. We got him a water and we sat down as Rob attempted to drink his cup of aqua. The bar was closing and they were putting up chairs on tables all around us. It was apparent they were closing and we needed to leave. Rob who was sitting at a table kept telling me and Dell, just one more minute. If Dell and I had been carrying a crow bar it would not have helped to move Rob’s ass from that seat. The bartenders and wait staff started to get more and more forceful in their insistence we leave as the bar was now closed.

Dell and I at this point had to basically pick Rob up off the chair or he would have never gotten up. We made it down the stairs and back to a shutting down for the night Bourbon Street. Rob then saw a cab and basically threw himself on top of the hood of it so, it would take us back to our room.

The next morning our individual bodies at this point had revolted. We had been slowly poisoning ourselves for three days. Even at that young age you can only take so much. As we checked out our room was a mess. The bathroom could have been called a disaster area. All I can say, is we were there three nights, it was three guys and we went through three rolls of toilet paper.

We got to the airport and as we sat there at the gate waiting for the plane we looked like microwaved dog shit. We were spent. My Mom and Lou were kind enough to pick us up from O’Hare. They tell me we looked like death. But, I must say we meet our intended goal. We wanted to see if we could beat New Orleans and we did. We all got drunk and we each had our moments but none of us threw up. Our training had paid off.

After that trip we all kind of dried out. Nowadays I could not even fathom being able to drink like I did the first six months of 1995. We stopped going on weekly marches and started to get back to our normal routines. I must say looking back it was all worth it. I had a blast. I would still like to go back and see that town the proper way. But what we did was something you can only do, when you are young, have no significant other, and no responsibilities. I am glad that we took advantage while we could.