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earlgreytea68When Hurricane Isaac was in the Gulf, I had a bit of a meltdown. You see, the last time I lived in New Orleans and there was a hurricane in the Gulf predicted to make a direct hit, the hurricane was called Katrina and I had to flee in the middle of the night and I didn't see any of my belongings for the next two months. So you might understand why Isaac triggered a bit of PTSD in me and compelled me to run around like a chicken with my head cut off.
It compelled no such panic in the New Orleanians all around me. You'd think they'd never had any kind of hurricane-related disaster at all. They seemed to think I was insane to have made plans to leave the city before Isaac hit. They seemed to think I was overreacting. Maybe this is how you can survive here: by having a very selective memory. All I know is that I spent a lot of time figuring out which of my belongings were most precious to me and needed to fly north with me while complaining that I'd rather have a snowstorm any day. (Of course, I mean a snowstorm in New England, where all it means is that you spend a day snuggled under a warm, fuzzy blanket. I was living in Boston the day Boston got the most snow it's ever gotten in a 24-hour period. I watched soap operas all day, and the next morning I walked through shoveled-out paths to Tealuxe. ::shrug;:)
ANYWAY, why am I saying any of this? Isaac happened way back in September! I am saying it because that was the first time a crazy person knocked on my door.
I peered through the peephole before I opened it, and it was a uniformed policeman. Now it crossed my mind that this could have been a scam, but I really thought maybe he was going around making sure everyone was leaving before Isaac hit. So I opened the door. He said to me, pointing at the apartment across the hall from mine, "Do you know the woman who lives there?" I told him, honestly, that I had just moved in a couple of weeks earlier and didn't know any of my neighbors. "Oh," he said. "Well, if you happen to see her, can you give me a call?" And he gave me a card.
Now, I wondered, what the hell was that all about? Was I living opposite a murder suspect? Or was she just a witness to a crime? OR WAS SHE SUSPECTED TO BE THE VICTIM OF A CRIME? I don't know, but when I was leaving my apartment to go to the airport to flee Isaac, a man did come out of the apartment opposite me, and I spent the whole ride to the airport debating whether this required me to get in touch with the police. I had specifically been told to look for a woman, and this had clearly been a man. Unless the woman was a master of disguise? But what if this was *evidence* in some way, what I had seen? Could it possibly be evidence?
I decided that I was insane and, also, that I wanted to avoid getting involved in whatever nonsense was happening as much as possible. And, frankly, I forgot about the whole thing. Isaac happened, and although it was no Katrina, the power was out for a whole week. Not that it mattered to me, because I spent that week in New England visiting friends and family and being very happy.
A few weeks after I returned from my Isaac evacuation, there was another knock on my door. The policeman again. He again asked me if I'd seen the woman. I said no, but I did tell him that I'd seen a man leave the apartment the day before Isaac hit. The policeman didn't look interested in this at all. In fact, he seemed to be confused about why I was even mentioning it. I decided that, whatever craziness was going on there, it apparently was neither pressing nor alarming, judging from the policeman's blase attitude toward it.
I never did find out what any of that was.
I relate this story now because today, at 6:45 am on a Saturday morning, I was woken by insistent banging on my door. I spent a little while thinking that maybe I was dreaming it, or maybe it was somebody else's door, before realizing: No, it was definitely *my* door. And then suddenly I was like, OH MY GOD WHAT IF THERE'S AN EMERGENCY GOING ON. So I got out of bed and went to the door.
A peek through the peephole revealed a man with a white beard resembling Santa Claus. You must understand that I'd been woken from a deep sleep, so I was very disoriented, and I was thinking, ...Is it much later in the day than I thought? Have I slept the day away? How long have I been asleep? Did I sleep until next Christmas?
The man started banging on my door again as I was standing there, so I opened it the tiniest crack and was like, "Hi?"
"Miss Borden?" he said to me.*
"...No," I said. Truthfully.
"Miss Conner?" he said.
"...No," I said again. Truthfully again.
Now he frowned at me, annoyed, like I was lying about this, and held up a clipboard he was holding, on which was a typewritten sheet of paper that contained an address highlighted in green. I was too discombobulated to read the rest of what was on the paper (I wish I had! I fail at observation!), but I could see the address.
"It says here Apartment 7307!" he informed me, as if this were some kind of incontrovertible proof.
"And you might note by the numbers on my door that I live in apartment *4*307," I pointed out.
"Hmph," he said, as if these were not two totally separate numbers.
"Also," I added, "your address says Oak Street, but right now you're on Main Street."
This seemed to give him pause. "...Oh," he said, glancing down at the address.
"That is not my address at all," I told him, "not even a little bit."
He looked up at me, smiling like this was all a charming misunderstanding, and started to say, "I'm so sorr--"
I slammed the door on him and locked it. Because, like, *seriously.* He must have been a process server or a debt collector, this is the only thing I can think, trying to catch people when they can't avoid him, and I get that that's his job, but, before knocking on people's doors at 6:45 am on a Saturday morning, MAYBE CHECK TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU ARE SOMEWHERE CLOSE TO THE RIGHT ADDRESS. HE COULDN'T HAVE EVEN LOOKED. HE WASN'T EVEN CLOSE. It was like he just chose a random door to walk up to, like, "Hey, good enough as any! Maybe I'll get lucky and stumble across them in hiding!" ARGH. I cannot even deal with so much incompetence.
This put me in a terrible mood, and then the pre-partying for today's parades started at 8 am, and I was even more annoyed. I am going away for Mardi Gras this year. No one is coming to visit, and I'm kind of over the parades at this point, which meant I would have just spent four straight days holed up in my apartment, because you can't *get* anywhere in New Orleans during Mardi Gras, the streets are either closed or gridlocked. So, anyway, I'm going away, and I am *so* excited about it. I was going to go to England and do research for my original trilogy, but that trip ended up having to require me driving, and I hate to drive in the UK (I am not good at the side-switching!). So instead I am being absolutely ridiculous and going to Paris. I've already been to Paris, so I don't need to do any touristing. I am just going to sit at cafes and eat chocolate croissants and write and write and write. I have *always* wanted to do that. I think that's why I love "Midnight in Paris" so much, because there's a not-so-little piece of me that still thinks I was a coward for not running off to Paris to live in a garret and write to my heart's content. I think there's a not-so-little piece of every English major with a proclivity toward writing that feels that way. So, anyway, I got a deal on a flight, and I'm going to Paris. My father is freaking out about this, because I am going to be alone in a foreign city and he is worried I am going to be kidnapped. I want to tell him, "I'm going to be much safer than I am in my apartment building, where all my neighbors are apparently getting up to the world's sketchiest activities."
I won't, though.
*All names and addresses have been changed to protect the innocent. The innocent being me, mostly
It compelled no such panic in the New Orleanians all around me. You'd think they'd never had any kind of hurricane-related disaster at all. They seemed to think I was insane to have made plans to leave the city before Isaac hit. They seemed to think I was overreacting. Maybe this is how you can survive here: by having a very selective memory. All I know is that I spent a lot of time figuring out which of my belongings were most precious to me and needed to fly north with me while complaining that I'd rather have a snowstorm any day. (Of course, I mean a snowstorm in New England, where all it means is that you spend a day snuggled under a warm, fuzzy blanket. I was living in Boston the day Boston got the most snow it's ever gotten in a 24-hour period. I watched soap operas all day, and the next morning I walked through shoveled-out paths to Tealuxe. ::shrug;:)
ANYWAY, why am I saying any of this? Isaac happened way back in September! I am saying it because that was the first time a crazy person knocked on my door.
I peered through the peephole before I opened it, and it was a uniformed policeman. Now it crossed my mind that this could have been a scam, but I really thought maybe he was going around making sure everyone was leaving before Isaac hit. So I opened the door. He said to me, pointing at the apartment across the hall from mine, "Do you know the woman who lives there?" I told him, honestly, that I had just moved in a couple of weeks earlier and didn't know any of my neighbors. "Oh," he said. "Well, if you happen to see her, can you give me a call?" And he gave me a card.
Now, I wondered, what the hell was that all about? Was I living opposite a murder suspect? Or was she just a witness to a crime? OR WAS SHE SUSPECTED TO BE THE VICTIM OF A CRIME? I don't know, but when I was leaving my apartment to go to the airport to flee Isaac, a man did come out of the apartment opposite me, and I spent the whole ride to the airport debating whether this required me to get in touch with the police. I had specifically been told to look for a woman, and this had clearly been a man. Unless the woman was a master of disguise? But what if this was *evidence* in some way, what I had seen? Could it possibly be evidence?
I decided that I was insane and, also, that I wanted to avoid getting involved in whatever nonsense was happening as much as possible. And, frankly, I forgot about the whole thing. Isaac happened, and although it was no Katrina, the power was out for a whole week. Not that it mattered to me, because I spent that week in New England visiting friends and family and being very happy.
A few weeks after I returned from my Isaac evacuation, there was another knock on my door. The policeman again. He again asked me if I'd seen the woman. I said no, but I did tell him that I'd seen a man leave the apartment the day before Isaac hit. The policeman didn't look interested in this at all. In fact, he seemed to be confused about why I was even mentioning it. I decided that, whatever craziness was going on there, it apparently was neither pressing nor alarming, judging from the policeman's blase attitude toward it.
I never did find out what any of that was.
I relate this story now because today, at 6:45 am on a Saturday morning, I was woken by insistent banging on my door. I spent a little while thinking that maybe I was dreaming it, or maybe it was somebody else's door, before realizing: No, it was definitely *my* door. And then suddenly I was like, OH MY GOD WHAT IF THERE'S AN EMERGENCY GOING ON. So I got out of bed and went to the door.
A peek through the peephole revealed a man with a white beard resembling Santa Claus. You must understand that I'd been woken from a deep sleep, so I was very disoriented, and I was thinking, ...Is it much later in the day than I thought? Have I slept the day away? How long have I been asleep? Did I sleep until next Christmas?
The man started banging on my door again as I was standing there, so I opened it the tiniest crack and was like, "Hi?"
"Miss Borden?" he said to me.*
"...No," I said. Truthfully.
"Miss Conner?" he said.
"...No," I said again. Truthfully again.
Now he frowned at me, annoyed, like I was lying about this, and held up a clipboard he was holding, on which was a typewritten sheet of paper that contained an address highlighted in green. I was too discombobulated to read the rest of what was on the paper (I wish I had! I fail at observation!), but I could see the address.
"It says here Apartment 7307!" he informed me, as if this were some kind of incontrovertible proof.
"And you might note by the numbers on my door that I live in apartment *4*307," I pointed out.
"Hmph," he said, as if these were not two totally separate numbers.
"Also," I added, "your address says Oak Street, but right now you're on Main Street."
This seemed to give him pause. "...Oh," he said, glancing down at the address.
"That is not my address at all," I told him, "not even a little bit."
He looked up at me, smiling like this was all a charming misunderstanding, and started to say, "I'm so sorr--"
I slammed the door on him and locked it. Because, like, *seriously.* He must have been a process server or a debt collector, this is the only thing I can think, trying to catch people when they can't avoid him, and I get that that's his job, but, before knocking on people's doors at 6:45 am on a Saturday morning, MAYBE CHECK TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU ARE SOMEWHERE CLOSE TO THE RIGHT ADDRESS. HE COULDN'T HAVE EVEN LOOKED. HE WASN'T EVEN CLOSE. It was like he just chose a random door to walk up to, like, "Hey, good enough as any! Maybe I'll get lucky and stumble across them in hiding!" ARGH. I cannot even deal with so much incompetence.
This put me in a terrible mood, and then the pre-partying for today's parades started at 8 am, and I was even more annoyed. I am going away for Mardi Gras this year. No one is coming to visit, and I'm kind of over the parades at this point, which meant I would have just spent four straight days holed up in my apartment, because you can't *get* anywhere in New Orleans during Mardi Gras, the streets are either closed or gridlocked. So, anyway, I'm going away, and I am *so* excited about it. I was going to go to England and do research for my original trilogy, but that trip ended up having to require me driving, and I hate to drive in the UK (I am not good at the side-switching!). So instead I am being absolutely ridiculous and going to Paris. I've already been to Paris, so I don't need to do any touristing. I am just going to sit at cafes and eat chocolate croissants and write and write and write. I have *always* wanted to do that. I think that's why I love "Midnight in Paris" so much, because there's a not-so-little piece of me that still thinks I was a coward for not running off to Paris to live in a garret and write to my heart's content. I think there's a not-so-little piece of every English major with a proclivity toward writing that feels that way. So, anyway, I got a deal on a flight, and I'm going to Paris. My father is freaking out about this, because I am going to be alone in a foreign city and he is worried I am going to be kidnapped. I want to tell him, "I'm going to be much safer than I am in my apartment building, where all my neighbors are apparently getting up to the world's sketchiest activities."
I won't, though.
*All names and addresses have been changed to protect the innocent. The innocent being me, mostly
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Paris....I so envy you!
Your building sounds just like one, but it was a Victorian brownstone, that I lived in years ago. All of my neighbors were 'Some of Gods Special little people'! lol!
I admire your spirit and down right pluckiness for not only surviving Katrina but returning to New Orleans, a city I have always wanted to visit and soak up the culture and history. Your a survivor and that's a great way to be :)
I share your desire to run off to Paris to write, even 20 some odd years after that craving began its still there.
I hope your trip is wonderful, enjoy every second of your time and have a couple of croissants for me I so wish I was going with you! :)
Re: Paris....I so envy you!
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-26 06:00 pm (UTC)And as for Paris, I'm headed out there at the end of next month to do pretty much the same thing - great minds think alike and all that :)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-26 08:21 pm (UTC)If I'd had enough Frequent Flyer miles to go to Europe, though, I would have gone with F. on his planned trip to Iceland and Greece.
I've never been to Paris ... I'd love to go. And I haven't been to England in 20 years. I need to go.
But my trip to New Zealand must come first: I've been promising it for about ten years.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-26 10:22 pm (UTC)Have an amazing time in Paris!!!! Enjoy your break. :)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 12:04 am (UTC)I find those Parisian cafes to be a tad bit overpriced and full of too many Parisians (or even worse, tourists) :)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 12:39 am (UTC)We just watched Midnight in Paris last night, actually - I liked it, I kept giggling every time someone historical popped up.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 12:58 am (UTC)I envy you sitting in cafes and writing all day in Paris. I've never managed to go there and not find one more museum to prowl through. I'm always worried I might be missing something if I just wile away the afternoon sipping tea and eating pain chocolat.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 02:00 am (UTC)But. Just in case. Maybe you should leave the next chapters of John Watson's Twelve Days of Christmas and Saving Sherlock Holmes to someone you trust. You know. Just in case you're kidnapped or have an overdose of chocolate croissants or something. You can never be too cautious. Obviously this is a purely selfless piece of advice and not at all the proof that I'm completely addicted to your stories. It's only for the sake of fine literature. *coughs*
Anayway, have a great time in Paris (I hope the weather will be fine!), and, in advance, bon appêtit! :-)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 02:27 am (UTC)I am eternally grateful that I live in a locked building. We have no buzzer unlock system, you have to go down and let people in yourself. I never answer my buzzer unless I'm expecting someone (usually dinner being delivered) and most people in the building seem to do the same. If someone does, by chance, get in the locked inner lobby, they can't get upstairs to our apartment doors because they would need a key - the elevator and door to the stairs require a key as well. If they get in the garage, they need a key to get into the stairwell. So we rarely see anyone who doesn't belong wandering around our building.
As for hurricanes. I was pretty blase about them when I lived in North Carolina. I hated the process of watching them move across the Atlantic, trying to figure out where they were going to hit. But once they were actually inland (and we had several doozies when I was living there) I pretty much stayed in my room in my townhouse - with an all glass wall - and watched tv and played on the 'net. My building was well built and felt safe. What I couldn't believe was the people who went driving out in it to buy more booze at the little minimarket down the street from me. there was a constant stream of people driving in and out of the driveway to the complex, which was right next to my place.
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 06:02 am (UTC)At least I live far enough out of Mobile that I don't have to deal with Mardi Gras. I just don't understand why people enjoy it.
I love driving in the UK, the round abouts are awesome for blonds who don't know where the hell they are going *G*
Have fun in Paris :)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 06:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 09:41 pm (UTC)I am SO JEALOUS- wish I had the time (and physical ability, especially this weekend!) to just jet off like that! Though, I've always said that if I win the lottery, I'd like to go live in London for a year and just write :) Probably pop down to Paris on the weekends, though!!
Hope you have a great time!!
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 07:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 04:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-29 04:00 pm (UTC)I still recall vividly being woken up one Sunday morning at 6.00am by the sounds of a police raid occurring 6 doors down from me.
Hope you have a great trip to Paris love :)
(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2013-02-13 03:22 am (UTC)You were absolutely right to evacuate for Isaac. I don't think denial is a survival trait at all. I think the psychological phenomenon you were seeing is more akin to "group think" or "herd instinct."
I forget the proper name, but it's the reason why 1 person, walking alone in a neighborhood who sees smoke will report it. If lots of people are walking by, they look at each other and think, "It must be all right. All these people are walking around and _they_ aren't worried. Someone else must have reported it." In other words, "The hurricane _can't_ be dangerous. Look at all the people here!"
Anyway, congrats on not being a sheep. Sorry about the intruder. We'd best write Benedict-- but give him the correct address. ;)