By: Jessica Kamikaze

So I went to New Orleans for an academic conference. It was a fun trip and I met some nice people and we hung out and that’s awesome. Looking back, I should’ve checked online before frivolously choosing to book the first hotel I saw. Even if you’re on a budget, you can find a really cool place to stay in New Orleans for killer prices. Despite what happened during this trip, I’d still say that New Orleans is a great place overall, and would highly recommend it to anyone who hasn’t been there before. All you have to do is check the internet for good hotels (and a cheap flight if the city is too far away to drive to) and you’re pretty much all set.

On the last day I planned to go to Bourbon Street with some other grad students I had met, Norton and Maurice (names have been changed because I can’t remember them). Norton was a nice guy; I just thought he was a little socially awkward. He suggested that we go check out the French Market while Maurice had dinner with his family, then we could all go to Bourbon Street together.

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Norton was totally freaked out that I ordered alligator for dinner, but I figured that was cuz he was from a small Colorado mountain town and he was just scared of new things. One our walk, Norton kept saying dumb things so, to change the subject, I asked Norton if he was excited to go to Bourbon Street. He said yes – for the jazz music and the experience though, not for the drinking. Norton said he didn’t drink at all. I asked him about it, in a way that I thought was pretty tactful, but then he started saying dumb things again, so I badgered him until he admitted the real reason he doesn’t drink: he’s Mormon.

Norton said he didn’t mind if I drank, in fact, he said, he was super good at watching out for the ladies and scaring away “bad dudes”. So I put Norton on creep-watch and strolled over to Jesters, the landmark daiquiri establishment, to get myself a gallon of their signature drink. For the experience, you know? Theeeen things started to get weird. Norton began expressing his opinion on things like the bathing suit I had been wearing earlier – which he said was sexualized because it was a two-piece – and having sex with strangers – which he said he had no problem with, as long as they had a chance to get to know each other a little and had a “connection”. I wanted to punch Norton in his stupid face, but I settled for yelling about how uncomfortable and weird it is to say those things. Then Maurice showed up and Norton stopped being a creep.

We went to the coolest bar – it was originally a blacksmith shop owned by Lafitte, the pirate king of New Orleans! It was here that I declared my commitment to finishing my gallon of daiquiri (which I had been carrying around for hours) and it was here that I fell asleep before Maurice herded me back to my hotel. What happened to Norton? Well Norton told Maurice that he wanted to “get wit” me, despite having a wife and children back in Colorado. Maurice, who is also married, threatened Norton with bodily harm if he didn’t leave immediately.

When I woke up I had missed my flight, but I had avoided the indecent advances of Norton the Mormon from Colorado.

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