always envy the dead
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Mother of an Apple Picker
The first tour I took out after Hurricane Ida hit was a memorable one, to say the least. At that point it had been three weeks since that windy motherfucker had come and gone and the French Quarter, like the rest of the city, was still reeling. Most of the power had returned by now, but there was still the odd streetlight, cornerstore, or even entire half-block that remained dark. And these powerless blemishes peppered the quarter, creating a sort of patchwork quilt of dark and light that gave off the impression of a night full of danger. There was also the disturbing chest-high stack of storm debris and black…
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The Worst Tip Line of All Time
Tip lines are a tricky thing. A tip line, in case you can’t figure it out, is the joke or witty comment you use to let your group know that you graciously accept tips for your work. Most jobs that are tip-based don’t need a tip line because it’s common knowledge that giving the worker a little gratuity, is the proper thing to do (think bartender, server, uber driver), but unfortunately, tour guides don’t fall into that category. Perhaps it’s because there are some tour guides who work at places where tipping isn’t allowed (these are usually prestigious places like Thomas Jefferson’s house and such). Or perhaps it’s because not…
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The Audacity of the Pisser
When I tell people that one time, in the middle of a tour, a man in my group unzipped his fly and began to urniate right then and there, I usually get the same response: “That only happened one time?” And yeah, har har, I get it. All you have to do is take a stroll down Bourbon Street and let the wafts of urine-scented sidewalks invade your nostrils to know that public urination isn’t exactly a rarity in this weird world I work in. BUT… just to answer that question: yes, it only happened one time, thank you very much. Because even drunk tourists generally know it’s not okay…
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Protected: The Blasphemy of the Pooper (patreon only)
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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The Second Line and the Storm
I can’t be sure (this was a couple years ago after all) but I don’t think this took place on a weekend night. I think it was on some random Tuesday or Wednesday. The quarter was hardly busy at all, anyway, that much I know for sure. Even Bourbon Street was rather barren, all things considered. I was just about halfway through a ghost tour, with a decent sized group of twenty two. It was a fine group. Not too wild, but with enough enthusiasm to make sure things wouldn’t get too boring for me. Of course, as I’ve said before, I had no clue how generous the group would…
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Assault in Pirate’s Alley
Tits and knives. That was my first impression of Chrissy the tour guide. Tits and knives. Today I consider her a good friend and colleague, but the thing about first impressions is that visuals make up most of it. And visually, the two things I noticed first about Chrissy were her tits and knives (ed. note: I told her this recently after I finished writing this, and she laughed and approved). A smaller woman, about 5’3” I’d say, I first met Chrissy under the herb sign on St. Peters, as she was waiting to take out a tour. I remember she was wearing a low cut black short that intentionally…
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Matching Tattoos
So this happened a few weeks ago on a Friday night ghost tour and I just can’t seem to get it out of my head, so I’ll share it now in hopes of trying to make sense of it. The tour itself was nothing special. Actually if I recall correctly the only thing noteworthy about it was just how well-behaved everyone was. It was a group of about fifteen, all of whom simply wanted to quietly listen to some ghost stories while following my instructions to the letter. As a guide, you couldn’t ask for more, really. The only thing that stood out to me about this tour was this…
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The Biggest Jerkhole Tippers of All Time
If there is one thing I have against some of our visitors from the north, it’s that they love to remind me (and everyone else in the city) that we don’t know the meaning of cold down here. This annoys me for two reasons. One, shut up, who cares about weather, don’t you have anything better to do than brag about temperature? And two, that’s not true. OK, it’s mostly true. Usually, I will admit, even our cold days down here ain’t that cold. But mostly true isn’t the same as always true. And what is always true is that at least a few times a year, we here in…
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Protected: (Patreon Only) All Dogs, Maybe Some Cats?
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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A Night of Regrets
It’s late March on a Saturday night in the French Quarter, and my mask wraps crooked around my mouth like a thin slice of raw pork, soggy with my own spit and sweat. The results of screaming for the last two hours. One tour down, one more to go. My left pocket is stuffed with tips, but my jaw aches and my throat is killing me. Telling stories for hours straight night after night in the quarter is never easy, but man, if you want a challenge try doing it with fabric strapped over your talking hole. Especially when you have to shout loud enough to make yourself heard over…
