-
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…
-
Protected: The Blasphemy of the Pooper (patreon only)
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
-
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…
-
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…
-
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…
