méprisable

Why do people want to go to New Orleans anyway? I have thought about this a lot, and still haven’t come up with an answer; I suppose there isn’t just one answer, people will have their own unique reasons. My reason was that I wanted to be a part of something bigger, something exciting. New Orleans was on the world’s stage after Hurricane Katrina, and everyone was watching. I wanted to be one of the watched. I wanted to be one of the founders of the new, better New Orleans, the envy of the world.

But this didn’t happen. There are so many things that I think of even now that could have been so exciting and admirable to have done while I was there. One of my biggest ideas that I didn’t even attempt to begin was trying to convince McSweeney’s to open a writing center, similar to 826 Valencia for children in New Orleans. I think this would be a wonderful addition to any city, and I could have been one of the founders, one of the people who thought of this idea. I would have admired me.

But, I never even moved past the “Hey, this would be a good idea” phase. Why, there was too much and nothing going on at the same time. New Orleans sucks the energy and life in general out of me. It is so hard to do something as simple as going to the grocery store. There were 36 before the storm, and to date, only 9 have reopened. It is depressing to drive anywhere; sinkholes, falling down buildings, garbage, people loitering not doing a damn thing to make their city better, all of these things weighed on me so heavily. New Orleans didn’t deserve an 826.

I didn’t even realize how depressed I was until I left; of course I knew I was depressed, my doctor, boyfriend and psychiatrist all confirmed this fact. But why? It was the city. It is so utterly depressing to live there. People have horrible attitudes. Everyone drives like an asshole. People steal from you; my favorite running shoes were stolen from my front porch, I had left them there because I didn’t want to get grass on my living room floor.

Before leaving the city I listed my two vintage motel chairs on Craigslist because they wouldn’t have survived the trek across the country atop a Jeep. They were two of my favorite things. Emily answered my post and fell in love with the chairs. I immediately liked her, and was sad that I was leaving because she was someone I would have liked to have made friends with; but she tricked me, she was not the good person she seemed to be. She came right over to look, and we arranged for me to deliver them to her house and her to pay for them the following day. I delivered. She didn’t answer the door. Later she emailed and said she would leave the payment in my mailbox; she never did. I trusted her and she failed me; it is such a simple thing, but this becomes magnified; this is what is wrong with the city.

New Orleanians are a bunch I do not like. With the exception of two people, all of the people that I developed genuine friendships with were transplants to the city like me. New Orleanians are harsh, rough people brought down by lifetimes spent in the uncongenial city. Nasty people, atrocious weather, unbelievable crime, energy prices that make you feel as though you have been raped each time you turn the air conditioner on, corruption running rampant; why would anyone want to live there. Oh, and the half of everything being written/spoken in Frech; very annoying. Nouvelle-Orléans aurait dû noyer.