Memory Snapshot, Waiting In Line – Preservation Hall, New Orleans

Preservation Hall

I’m twenty-six. I remember this part, clearly. Why? Because I stood in line waiting for the doors to open and talked to an older gentleman for about forty-five minutes, and when he found out that I was a college instructor, he was flabbergasted.

“Too young! You’re just too young to be a college professor,” he said.

I remember trying to explain to him that I wasn’t a “professor”, but I don’t think it sank in. That may have been due to the Hurricane he was sipping on.

Muggy – it was hot and humid, even though the sun was starting to set. I always feel like I get my money’s worth from my deodorant when I am in New Orleans. I think I’m supposed to say “glistening”, but I was just sweating – and a lot. The little gusts of wind feel like tiny miracles when they hit the back of my neck.

People were lining up across the street for a cemetery tour. The people who worked the tour were dressed in ghostly costumes. It’s a little disconcerting to see ghosts drinking from plastic cups and cracking jokes.

There’s a voodoo shop a few doors down. The smell of incense billows out. I’ve been in there before. There’s a big sign about not touching the shrine. I don’t believe in Voodoo, but I certainly don’t touch anything!

I ate before I walked over here (I’m always amazed at the people who drive in the French Quarter area). Acme Oyster Bar – oysters on the half shell, my usual. I went early so I wouldn’t have to wait in line and so I could make it over here to Preservation Hall before they open the doors.

I want to sit on the floor near the band, right in front of the musicians. The music will be so loud and the acoustics and wooden floor will all work together and you end up being able to “feel” the music there.

I’ll stay until they stop playing. I’ll stay for every song. And, then, I’ll walk down the street to Cafe Du Monde and drink some cafe au lait and eat some beignets and go back to my hotel room, full of music and good food and more memories from New Orleans.

photo credit: Infrogmation via photo pin cc

About melindamcguirewrites

The young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. ------ William Faulkner, Nobel Prize Speech, Stockholm, 1950
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