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.


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.