More Than One Way

Today ranks as my favorite day of all time. It’s Friday, it’s payday, and my friends and I are on our way to New Orleans for a long night of music and partying. It is the first of what I hope will be many trips to the Big Easy while stationed at Keesler AFB, Biloxi, MS. True, we’ll only be based here while attending tech school, and then who knows where in the world they’ll send us, so we might as well enjoy the time we have.

Payday is important because we have to rent a car. We won’t be here long enough to travel home and bring back our own car. However, if we divide the rental cost between the four of us, we’ll have enough money left over for all the fun stuff New Orleans has to offer. Of course, then we’ll be broke until next payday, when we can do it all over again.

My friends and I made the 90-mile drive without getting a ticket, so we knew luck was on our side. Parking turned out to be a bit of a problem, but after twenty minutes of weaving in and out of side streets, we got lucky and found a spot. We anxiously piled out of the car, hoped it would be there when we came back, and rushed off to Bourbon St.

The French Quarter was everything we had heard it was and more. Our pulses raced with excitement as we wove our way through the throngs of people out to have a good time. I could feel the music vibrating the walls of each club we passed. Barkers held the doors to strip clubs open so the passersby could peek in at the dancers, hoping it would lure them inside. After weeks of basic training followed by additional weeks of tech school life, I have to admit, it was tempting, but strip clubs were not why we came. It was all about the music. Sure, if we met some friendly ladies at a bar that had a great band, even better.

The sign stopped me in my tracks, causing one of my friends to bang into me.

“What’s up with you?” he said, looking annoyed.

I pointed, “Look at that building. It has a bust of Dionysus over the door and a sign from the police department that says, Beware, Pickpockets and Loose Women. Can you think of a reason not to go in? I can’t.”

We all laughed, placed our wallets in our front pockets, and headed for the door. The club was crowded, but not uncomfortably so. We spread out and found stools along the bar. The drinking age was 21, and I was 19, but in 1969, the Vietnam War was in full swing, so showing a military ID got that law overlooked in many bars. I ordered my first Hurricane. The bartender returned several minutes later with a tall glass filled with multicolored liquid, a slice of orange, a couple of cherries, and a straw. I took one sip of the rum-based drink, and I was a fan.

I sat at the bar sipping my drink, waiting for the band to start its next set, when I heard a sultry female voice say, “I love that drink, it’s my favorite.” I looked to my right and saw a beautiful dark-haired woman with radiant blue eyes and a killer smile. Of course, I offered to buy her one, and she gleefully accepted. When I scanned the bar, I could see my friends had also found companions.

The drinks continued to flow along with the money going out of my wallet. I paid for our meals and a couple of souvenirs she just had to have. The evening was going spectacularly until I ran out of money. When I told her I was out of cash, she smiled, stood up, said she had fun, and left. Crestfallen and broke, I found my way back to our car only to see my friends were already there. After exchanging similar stories, I understood the sign’s true meaning. Our pockets had indeed been picked, and we helped them do it. Dionysus, the Greek god of joy and chaos, would truly be proud.