Why I'm Not Moving
Last night we were at K-Paul's, having dinner upstairs. There is a loud drunken party two tables over from us. So we're sitting there with our bottle of sauvignon blanc, and the waiter puts my etouffee and Mike's swordfish down in front of us, and all at once a brass band comes up the stairs.
The drunk table leaps up, pops open some parasols from somewhere, waves their napkins in the air, and starts second lining around the dining room. The rest of us have no choice but to stop what we're doing and clap along. It is impossible not to tap your feet. Then the band wraps up their song, disappears down the stairs, and everyone sits back down and goes about their business like nothing happened. This type of thing occurs all the time here.
If you're the kind of person who resents such interruptions to your dinner for two, well, they don't want you in New Orleans!
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