My friend, Tom, is a physician. He told me that he is at a medical convention in New Orleans, aka Nawlins, this week. He is an ophthalmologist. I told him that he will get an eye-full.
I know of which I speak, for I have been to Nawlins.
When I was a senior in college, age 21 (and that is important information), my school’s spring break coincided with Mardi Gras. My friend, Frank, said we could stay with his parents in Baton Rouge. From there, we made a day trip to New Orleans, during Mardi Gras. I got an eye full. So did Frank and Sam, my traveling companions.
In New Orleans, in the French Quarter, there was a place that did not have a front window. It had a curtain instead. Out of the curtain, swinging over the sidewalk, was a girl on a trapeze, or at least the legs of a female. She was probably 21 too. We were all adults, obviously, as this was adult entertainment, or more accurately, an advertisement for adult entertainment inside the premises.
We had lunch there, or a similar place. The establishment provided food, beverages and adult entertainment. The waitresses were multi-taskers. The nice girl with a long blonde ponytail who took our order had clothes on when she brought me my cheeseburger. Then she went on a stage and took most of those clothes off. She traded places with other server/strippers. It was a very efficient use of staff. Very flexible employee plan.
Now here is where I had some weird thoughts for a red-blooded American male college student. I started thinking that these girls (particularly our waitress, who had been humanized beyond a mere sex object by conversation about our order and looked our age), were somebody’s sisters, probably, and somebody’s daughters, definitely.
I have a sister. I thought, as I sat eating my lunch, that I would not want her to work there. I saw it as degrading. At the time, I did not have any daughters, but now I do. I don’t want them to work there either.
Anyway, back to my travelog, I recommend the double cheeseburger with sweet potato fries. I can’t think of the name of the place, but it will come to me.
If you go there, please say hello to the waitress with the ponytail. (It might be gray now). She will surely remember me because we had such a nice conversation about spring break and the Mardi Gras and various things. If her memory is foggy after a few decades, for we were there when Archie Manning was quarterback of the Saints, remind her that I was the guy who had the double cheeseburger. I vaguely recall wearing a blue sweatshirt. Tell her that. I probably made a big impression.
It was an unforgettable experience for both of us. Or at least one of us.