Dear Pensacola,
Here we go again.
Another hurricane season is upon us, bringing with it such seasonally exclusive terms as spaghetti models, cones of uncertainty, eyewalls and – say it with me in a sultry voice now – rapid intensification.
I need not ask if you are ready. Of course you aren’t. Neither are we.
A person can hoard all the D-cell batteries and cans of Progresso soup they want. They still won’t ever be ready for the next Katrina or Camille – or, in your case, Opal or Ivan.
You know it as well as we do. Consequently, there is less of a need to explain New Orleanians’ idiosyncratic ways to you than to people from other places.
More than them, you get us – or you at least come reasonably close.
Part of that is a product of familiarity. The people of New Orleans have flocked to Pensacola every summer since the pre-interstate days, back when that sun-baked ribbon of concrete and asphalt known as Highway 90 was the chief artery connecting us.
Those were also the pre-GPS, pre Waze days, a time in which pausing to visit rest stops and welcome centers was all but mandatory – and not just to answer nature’s call but for the chance to add another free state roadmap to our cars’ collections of tire gauges, oil change receipts, stale Juicy Fruit and other accumulated glovebox ballast.
The drive to Pensacola was longer and somehow sweatier then. The promise of a free Dixie cup of orange juice at the Florida line was (and still is) a road trip highlight. To this day, I am not sure if it is intended as a welcome gift or as a reward for surviving Mississippi and Alabama, but in either case it is always appreciated.
The only sight more welcome might have been that of the delightfully kitschy Pensacola Beach welcome sign – the neon-lighted one with the airborne marlin arching above it in all its glowing, Vegas-inspired magnificence.
Or maybe it was seeing the now-gone K&B drug store located strategically on the way to the beach. That purple sign was a loud and clear beacon reminding us that, although we were far from home, we weren’t really that far.
On that subject, if you’ve never had the chance to pair fresh Gulf air with K&B’s Creole cream cheese ice cream, you don’t have a full grasp of rapid intensification.
But I digress.
There’s another force that binds Pensacola and New Orleans, and it is even stronger than the siren call of free orange juice.
It is hurricane season.
Like us, you know the drill. You also know the heartache and hard work that comes with living at the business end of hurricane alley. We have been through the war together. We have been forever changed by it.
At the risk of jinxing things, we have also both been fortunate lately in that regard. Neither of us has experienced many white-knuckle moments over the past couple of hurricane seasons.
Perhaps that luck will hold out for us. But the bill will come due eventually. It always does.
Forecasters come and go – the Nashes, the Westbrooks, the Brecks and Milhams and Orrs – yet the storms rage on.
When they do, expect the experts and conventional wisdom to promote a northward evacuation. From a practical standpoint, that makes sense. A lateral evacuation, after all, leaves you just a wobble or two from being at ground zero.
But the experts and conventional wisdom don’t take into account the psychic boost that comes from being where people get it.
With that knowledge, we have a few modest proposals.
First, if you keep your couch open through hurricane season, we’ll do the same.
You make sure your Publix stores are stocked with andouille from June to November, and we’ll request that our Rouses locations keep mullet on hand.
You ensure Peg Leg Pete’s is ready with the Sazeracs. We’ll remind the Carousel Bar to stock the ingredients for a good Bushwhacker.
And when you see us in New Orleans Saints T-shirts, give us a “Who Dat.” When we see you in your Blue Angels cap, we’ll give you a heartfelt “Glad to be here.”
Who knows? Maybe it’ll all be unnecessary and we’ll skate by with another easy-breezy storm season.
If that’s the case, we’ll save you a spot at the bar on Dec. 1 at Pat O’Brien’s, where we can share the fun kind of hurricane – rapid intensification purely optional.
Sincerely, New Orleans
Ask Mike Have a question or a thought to share about New Orleans etiquette or tradition? I’d love to hear it. Email it to playbook@myneworleans.com
