N.O.: Day Four

We worked for about 2.5 hours in the morning, then went to lunch with Betsy, who then took us on a tour of the state supreme court, as Evan had to file something he'd been working on. We then proceeded to the lower 9th ward, which Evan and Matt hadn't seen yet.

It was odd -- as we crossed the river and approached the area, I almost felt short of breath, my heart rate up and my nerves on alert. We got out and walked around this time, Rinna and I taking pictures. The barge that broke the levee was crushing the front half of a school bus. A daybed lay carelessly beside it, a change of Sunday clothes for a young girl still hanging on it. They are reconstructing the levee.






But as much as it was terrible, I felt also that it was at least not a war zone. It was tragic and terrible, but at least there were no mines underground, no enemy soldiers lying in wait, no foe to attack except our own impotence and frustration.

We then returned to the office for about an hour. Mory, the head of NOLA, gave us mugs. We cleaned up and left by 6.

Dinner was at Nacho Mama’s (ha). Good, but not as good as Juan’s Flying Burrito. Mm. Nachos.

After dinner, we lazed around for a bit at home, dithering about going to the House of Blues or to Frenchmen Street. (We are really a group of non-decisionmakers.) But Evan, who we've nicknamed The Commander (because he used to want to go into the military), pushed a little more for Frenchmen Street, a lively stretch of bars and music.

I again volunteered to be DD, because I am continuing to feel under the weather. I must say, I did a rocking good job of finding parking.

Frenchmen Street was awesome. We strolled down the street, considering Cafe Brazil, The Snug Cat, and d.b.a. The Commander found a $20 bill on the street a few minutes into the evening, and I suggested he apply it toward drinks. We chose d.b.a. (best guess: Dead Before Arrival?) and sat in a weird fishbowl-y cubbyhole in the front. Much drinking ensued (unfortunately, not by me, although I did have a Long Island Iced Tea and a sip of someone's Tom Collins). Matt's roommate and the rest of the Common Ground volunteers from Crimson showed up, just after a 8-man brass band started to play. The band rocked, the place was hopping, and the crowd was still swelling at 1 am when we left.

Our host had joined us toward the later part of the evening, and seemed to be a mood -- he mercilessly teased Rinna, a quiet, shy girl who was clearly uncomfortable with the aggressive teasing. And on the way home, knowing that I am an idiot when it comes to directions and need block-by-block assistance, he misdirected me on purpose a couple times, played with the radio controls on the steering wheel while I was driving, and generally was a drunken ass. Evan called up from the back seat, "Hey man, just let her drive." Whatever.

However. I came home feeling in need of a drink. After the 9th Ward and all that. So our host gave me and Matt (who "would never let a friend drink alone") some vodka, and we sat around and chatted. Evan, clearly feeling the effects of 7 drinks, conked out, and Rinna went to take a shower.

Host and I discovered we'd been in the same class together last term ... which engendered a fight. About the professor. The professor! He thought she was egotistical, I disagreed. Which might have been the end of that, except that Host was very dismissive and personal in a way I didn’t expect and was totally stunned by.

"I don't think she's any more or less egotistical than any other prof at Crimson, or any law school," I said.

"Wow. That's the vaguest statement you could say. So now you're saying that all profs are egotistical?" he challenged.

"Well, yeah, they kind of are."

"Well, if you have to resort to that, you've definitely lost the argument," he said.

I called him on it. "I don't know why you're being so passive-aggressive about this. You think I'm wrong, and I think you're wrong, so why can't we agree to disagree?" I asked.

"At least you're direct enough to say that," he replied sarcastically.

It perhaps doesn't come across so much in the words he said as much as the way he said them. Host is a big, tall, guy, and his tone was aggressive and at times sneering.

Rinna came out of the bathroom and Host soon afterwards said goodnight. I looked at Matt quizzically and mouthed, "What was that?" As I got my pajamas out of my suitcase near his head, he quietly said, "It wasn't you. I was totally taken aback."

"Did I say something?" I asked, shaken. "Is there some reason he doesn't like me?"

Matt shook his head. "No, it wasn't you. I think he's a little drunk, and he wasn't expecting anyone to disagree with him. You didn't do anything wrong." He paused while I collected my things. "Are you okay?"

I felt tears rising, and I nodded without looking at him, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

I admit, I sniffled in the bathroom for several minutes. The whole things was just so weird.

The next day, Rinna asked what had happened, and I briefly said we'd had a disagreement about a professor, and that it was strange because Host had been so aggressive about it. She said, "He's normally so polite and nice, but I think when he's drunk he gets kind of weird." I'll say.