Hello again from New Orleans, where we have quickly evolved to deal with the new joys and hazards of our environment.
I can tell how much of a tourist I look like on any given day by the number of guys on the street who ask me some variation of, “hey, I bet you I can tell you where you got your shoes.” The answer is, of course, “on your feet” or “on XYZ street (wherever you’re currently standing.) This is then followed up by a request for money, or in some cases, extended harassment when money isn’t turned over. If I’m carrying my bright blue day pack, or sipping on a novelty drink, I’ll get asked. If I’m walking briskly enough, most people seem to assume I know what I’m doing and where I’m going, and leave me alone. This same phenomenon results in me getting asked for lots of directions, something I’ve given up on doing after realizing I may have sent someone slightly astray. Hope you found that laundromat, sir.Continue reading “I Know Where I Got My Shoes: Week 10”